


A Darker Shade of Love

by Gayani



Category: Dexter (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Dark and Disturbed, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Poor Deb, Twisted, Unhealthy Relationships, debster
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-02-13 15:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 29,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2156211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gayani/pseuds/Gayani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one shots exploring the darker side of Debster. Spoilers through all 8 seasons. Rated M for smut and other adult content. Debster-centric. Also posted on FF.net</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Morning Routines

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this 30 day challenge on Tumblr and felt a little inspired. It will be an exploration of Debster as an abusive or unhealthy pairing.
> 
> Now, I know some people might object to Debster being considered an abusive pairing. After all, Dexter is there for her in ways that no one else has been before and he is certainly capable of loving her. However, Dexter is obviously not a healthy individual (and for that matter Deb isn’t much closer) and at the least their relationship is unhealthy, borderline toxic and extremely co dependent. I think it’s possible to write them happily and in lighter ways, but you know I always go dark with them and this challenge felt like a good fit. Considering that physical violence isn’t much of an issue between them, the prompts in this challenge will probably lean more towards manipulation, destructive or possessive behavior or otherwise co dependent themes. 
> 
> That being said, there are items on this list that are already extremely dark in my head and I feel the need to warn you readers of that. Additionally, I hope that no one will take my writing this challenge as viewing abusive relationships lightly. I certainly don’t condone any of this behavior, nor do I consider this a joke. I do view this as an aspect of the human experience, particularly with characters in this vein, and I want to explore that dynamic between Debster. 
> 
> Anyways, the time frame for these will be all over the place and most likely each prompt will be stand alone. They will be a mix of canon and AU and possibly start canon and go AU…so basically you don’t know what you’re going to get! 
> 
> I think this could be really interesting, so hopefully you enjoy reading it! Enough rambling …

**Prompt: Morning Routines**

Every time he turns around she is staring at him. Her eyes are boring into him as if she can unveil every one of his secrets, as if he can keep nothing from her. She doesn’t have the decency to look away quickly, to smile, to even blink. And it makes him wonder what she is seeing.

Every morning it’s the same routine. He wakes from a restless slumber of knives and rivers of crimson. Realizing with a start that he is not at home, he then forces himself into a hot shower before she wakes up and cuts through the din in his head of bone saws and pleading victims.

She’s usually in the bedroom waiting for him to leave the shower and she passes him a wary glance before strolling past him, her towel in hand. He makes the coffee while she bangs around in her room. God only knows what she is doing, but by the time her door swings open he can see the mess of clothing in her wake. But it’s her house and not his, so he takes a deep breath and focuses his gaze on the steam rising from his mug.

The questions start as soon as she’s had her first sip of caffeine. They begin innocuously, how did he sleep, how is he feeling. But then she’s pressing him about his day ahead, where he will be, who she will assign him with so he can’t sneak away. All the while her eyes bore into him.

Today is different somehow. She’s halfway through her first cup and yet she remains silent. It’s not like Deb to be so quiet. And her gaze, fixed somewhere on the countertop, is strangely removed from him. Dexter takes it on to start the conversation.

“It’s early still. Should we go get breakfast?”

But instead of her gaze coming up to meet his, she turns and looks out the window towards the tide. She sighs heavily, takes another sip of coffee.

“Deb?” He touches her hand and she starts, her eyes swinging up towards his. There is something akin to fear in them and he withdraws his hand quickly.

“Sorry.” Her eyes fall away again and he wonders what happened for her to be so withdrawn. “We should get going. I have a pile of work waiting on my desk.”

“Wait.” He steps in front of her and she pulls back again. This time he is certain of her discomfort. “What’s wrong?”

Deb tilts her head, looks at him skeptically. “You don’t remember?”

He stares at her questioningly and she continues.

“Do you want to kill me?” Her voice is hushed and the anxiety on her face is clear.

“What?!” Dexter steps away from her, stopping only when his back has met the counter. “Deb, I wouldn’t…” He tries to reassure her with growing alarm.

She steps slightly closer. “You know, I wasn’t afraid of you. When I found out. I didn’t think you’d hurt me, because you’ve never tried before.”

“Because I wouldn’t!” He wants to move closer to her, reach out to her. But the accusation lingers and he doesn’t want to see the apprehension in her grow.

“Last night I woke up with you standing next to the couch.” Deb’s eyes drift past him to the butcher’s block next to the sink. He follows her gaze, sees the missing knife.

Startled he looks back to her. “Where’s the knife, Dexter?” Deb’s eyes are wide yet focused on him like a laser.

“I don’t remember this.” He tells her desperately. “Deb I would never hurt you!” He takes a step towards her and she recoils, backing away while watching him.

“I don’t know how to believe you anymore.” Deb whispers. She shakes her head as she looks at him worriedly. “I was foolish to think I could stop you. You were right.”

“No! No, I can do this. You can help me. It’s getting better.” He doesn’t believe it at all, but he wants to. And he wants her to believe that he is redeemable. He wants her to think that her love is enough to fix him. Because if she believes, maybe he can too.

“If I hadn’t woken up last night, what would have happened Dexter?” Deb questions. She places her hands over her face, shakes her head again. “I can’t do this. You have to move out.” She looks back at him and Dexter sees the pity in her eyes.

“Deb, please. I know I wasn’t happy about this arrangement, but I would never hurt you.” He pleads.

Deb looks at him for a long moment and sighs once more. “Get your shit together Dex. Take the day off and do whatever it is you need to do so I don’t have to fucking watch my back.”

He watches her pick up her keys and head out the door. He worries she will never feel safe with him again. 


	2. An Argument

Prompt: An Argument

Part of him is terrified, scared out of his wits. He has completely lost control of the situation. Of himself.

But he’s too angry to hold back now. “What the FUCK were you thinking?!” His voice booms off of the walls.

He can see Deb’s anger rising, but his is already overflowing. Hot lava boils in the pit of his stomach, gushes up and out of every pore of his being.

“Fuck you.” Deb’s voice is low, never a good sign. Her head is tilted down, her eyes glaring up at him, flames leaping.

“Fuck me?! FUCK ME?!” Dexter can feel himself raging, but as hard as he tries he can’t reel it back in. “You don’t listen. You go and put yourself in danger. And you are fucking lucky I showed up in time. So fuck me? No, FUCK YOU!”

He can never remember being so angry with her, feeling so absolutely enraged that he thinks he might do something stupid. He actually fears he might hurt her. Which is ironic, because her safety is what has him so riled up to begin with.

That voicemail had frightened him to his core. He was certain that he would show up to the house and find her mangled, broken body soaked in blood. He had known from the beginning that telling Deb about Speltzer was a bad idea. That she would never be able to give him the room he needed to do his work. But he didn’t think that telling her would bring her this close to danger.

So now he can’t quite decide if he’s angry at her, or angry at himself. But here he is, lashing out at her in a way he never has before. Deb was always the emotional one to his quiet and reserved self. It didn’t matter what she said to him, how she yelled or called him names; he always just took it because that was what she needed. He is actually quite amazed that he is capable of speaking to her this way, of directing this much anger towards her.

Deb scoffs at him. “You think you’re some kind of fucking hero, riding up, saving the day? I’ve got news for you Dexter, you’re not. You walk around here talking about saving Speltzer’s next victim. You act as if this is all about the greater good.”

Deb steps closer to him. Right into his space so she’s just a breath away. “You’re no better than he is.” She hisses.

It hurts him more than he wants to admit, that she thinks of him as a monster now. He had thought she had still perceived some good in him, despite everything she had seen lately. But in that moment he knows better. There’s a sudden surge of anger within him and without thinking he slams her against the nearest wall.

A small voice within him is telling him to stop, to make sure he never hurts Deb. It sounds vaguely like Harry, but it’s distant and soft. He can recognize that he truly is not in control anymore, that his Dark Passenger has the wheel and very possibly cannot be stopped.

His hands are holding tightly onto Deb’s shoulders, his breath coming hard as he stares down at her. She seems caught off guard, but surprisingly un-rattled. And just as he wonders what he will do next there’s a shift. It’s nearly indiscernible, but the longer he stares down at Deb, the more he feels it. A new tension fills the air. The harsh pants of his breathing sound strangely like something else and he is hyper aware of the heat coming from her body.

Deb gasps, her expression changing, a look he can’t quite place. He frowns uncertainly and releases his tight grip on her, shuffles back a half step. Deb’s gaze shifts away from him awkwardly and he can see her taking a steadying breath. “You need to go.” Her voice is slightly husky, he can see a pinkness growing in her cheeks.

It’s as if he’s come back to his senses. The past few moments, the raised voices and thrown curses, seem like a waking dream. “Deb…” He looks at her concerned, unsure of what has transpired.

She shakes her head at him, steps away from the wall and rubs her right hand over her left shoulder where he had exerted the most pressure. “Forget it. We’re just upset.” She turns away from him, towards her sink where she slowly fills a glass of water. He watches her down it, still waiting for some explanation from her or his own tired brain. None comes to mind.

She turns her head slightly, but doesn’t look at him. “Go home Dex.” He stares at her a moment more, but finally nods at this. He leaves her standing in her kitchen and quietly closes the door behind him.


	3. A Punch to the Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original prompt was a slap, but a punch felt more appropriate...

**Prompt: A ~~Slap~~ Punch to the Face**

The first time Deb punched him in the face had been very accidental. They had been goofing off. Or rather Deb had been goofing off. She was doing that play boxing thing, bouncing around on her toes, fists in front of her face. Dexter had actually found it mildly amusing, until she lost control of one jab and landed a blow to his nose, resulting in quite a bit of blood. Dexter did not enjoy his own blood.

The second time had been a slightly less than gentle upper cut to his jaw. It was safe to say that Deb did not understand her own strength because what was meant to be a playful shot had hurt a hell of a lot.

But the third time she definitely meant it. And he more than felt it. Lying back on the floor of his bedroom, he looks up at his sister as stars flash in front of his eyes and the room tilts precariously. This time her fist connected with his temple, knocking him over into a confused lump. This time, he might have deserved it.

Deb is rather livid. All the tell-tale signs. The furrowed brow, the balled up fists, chest heaving under the towel she is wrapped in. The towel with nothing underneath it.

He has enough sense to not stare at her legs, and shuts his eyes, rubs his fingers into his head.

“What the fuck?!” Deb looks down at him, contempt and fear fighting with her anger.

“Geez Deb, what?”

“What?!” Her voice shrieks and Dexter isn’t sure if he’s glad there is no one home to hear them or if he could use a save. “What the fuck were you doing?!”

Dexter scoots back, away from his sister, as he tries to get his bearings enough to get back on his feet.

“Answer me!” Deb’s voice is shrill and does nothing to help Dexter’s already spinning head.

“I just…walked in accidentally.” Dexter pulls himself onto his bed as he watches Debra’s face turn a brighter shade of red.

“You’re such a fucking creep!” And with that she turns on her heel and storms out of his room, slamming the door behind her. 

* * *

 

“Deb?” Dexter knocks on her door softly, concerned that she never joined him for dinner. He waits a few moments before he knocks again. “Deb? I brought you a plate…”

The door inches open and he can see Deb eyeing him through the crack. “What.”

“Uh…you didn’t eat dinner…I thought you might be hungry?” Dexter stammered uncomfortably, the look on Deb’s face making him nervous.

“I think I might be hungrier if my fucking brother wasn’t spying on me in the bathroom.” Deb tells him flatly.

Dexter shakes his head. “It was an accident. I didn’t realize you were in there.”

“How long were you there?” Deb scrunched her face at him, disturbed.

“What?” Dexter faltered.

“How long were you peeking through the fucking door, Dex?” He can see her anger returning.

“I wasn’t. I told you, I opened the door because I didn’t realize you were in there.”

“That’s bullshit.” Deb narrows her eyes at him. “How long Dex?”

Dexter shakes his head. “What are you talking about? Why would you think I was there for longer than a second? Look, I didn’t see anything, okay?”

Deb stares at him long and hard as if her gaze might cause his secrets to spill forth. “Well, I guess I’ll just ask Dad to put a lock on the door so none of these embarrassing situations happen to either of us ever again.” Deb cocks her eyebrow at him, testing him.

“That’s a good idea, Deb.” Dexter returns with a smile. Deb affords him one last skeptical gaze before shutting the door on his face. He sighs and looks down at the plate in his hands. He should really be more careful when it comes to Deb. He had certainly done a better job in the past. But she always was very good at seeing through his bullshit and this was no exception. As Dexter puts away the food and heads back to his room he mulls over the last glimpse he was probably going to be getting of his naked sister.  


	4. Manipulating into Makeup Sex

**Prompt: Manipulating the other into makeup sex**

_"All my life I thought I needed you, that I couldn't survive without you. Fuck. Fuck! It was the other fucking way around. It was the other way around."_

_"Deb..."_

_"Fucking go."_

_..._

She’s asking him to leave, but how can he do that? He’s just shown her how much he loves her, what he’ll do to protect her, and she’s telling him to get out?

He frowns at her, looks down at the knife in his hand, the blood smeared on his right palm.

“Just go.” Deb cries, buries her head between her hands as she teeters on her toes near the closed door.

“No.” Dexter drops the knife near the body and moves closer to her. He squats down in front of her. “No, I came here to save you. I came here to bring you home.”

Deb sobs, her body shaking as she pulls back, stands up. “I don’t want your fucking help!” Her voice breaks and she bends over tries to catch her breath.

“Deb, please.” He stands up too, moves closer until she is cornered at the patch of wall by the door. She squeezes herself away from him, pressing against the cold concrete as her gaze hovers on Briggs’ body.

Dexter comes even closer, until his body leans into her, his forehead touching her temple. “I need you, Deb.” He whispers. “You were right. I need you.” His bloody hand moves to her hip, the crimson smearing against her denim.

“No…” She wants to scream at him, shove and kick him, punch his fucking lights out. But all she does is whisper and press her body further away.

He takes advantage, presses into her more, so that she is completely trapped. He nips at her jaw as his other hand slides up the back of her thigh. He grabs a handful of her ass, just like he saw Briggs’ do the other day.  

“Just go away, Dexter. Just get the fuck away from me.” But her voice holds no conviction. She can’t tear her eyes away from the dead body, Dexter’s offering.

“Please, Deb.” He presses further, pushes his hard length against her thigh and scrapes his teeth against her neck.

The tears haven’t stopped. They fall onto his shoulder, speckling his shirt as his lips move across her skin. He moves his right hand up from her hip, underneath her shirt. She can feel the sticky wetness on her skin and another sob escapes her lips.

His hands continue to move across her and she can hear him next to her ear, pleading with her not to leave him, begging her to come back. She hates him for everything. For LaGuerta, for Briggs, for being the fucker that he is.

She hates him so much she can’t believe she still loves him. And to hear him say these words to her, to implore her with such desperation only reminds her of everything she always desired from him. She’s just watched him kill a man, someone she mildly cared for, someone who didn’t really deserve it. Yet in some ways it feels like a twisted, bizarre gift. Like something the fucking cat drags in to prove his love for you.

She almost wants to laugh, but cries harder instead. Because how can she ever really escape him? Hasn’t he proven now that she never will?

She can feel him reach for the waistband of her jeans and she lets him. She turns her head, shoves her lips against his and he returns the kiss with fervor. He yanks her pants and panties down her legs swiftly. Her eyes settle back on Briggs’ lifeless body and that’s what she’s still staring at when Dexter pulls her leg around him and slams into her.

She can feel her breath leave her body at the hard movement and she finds her arms coming around him, holding on tightly, nails digging into his flesh. His breath is loud in her ear, her name falling from his lips on repeat. She can only stare at the dead body, mere feet away, as he fucks her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo...hope I didn't scare you :)


	5. An activity they both enjoy

**Prompt: An activity they both enjoy**

His passion overwhelms her. When he pins her body against his, his mouth moving like a rapid fire against her sensitized skin, she can’t think straight. She is pure lust, bubbling and warm. She is nothing more than what he creates. All she knows is the touch of his skin against hers, the sound he makes as he kisses her.

But sometimes she fears it is not passion. It is consumption. He devours and destroys her. He takes everything she has to offer and gives nothing in return. And when he is done, she is empty, a shell, a void.

The nights he comes to her she knows not who he is. She doesn’t know herself either. Maybe that’s why she allows it to occur, time and again.

But when he touches her, any reason, any excuse, matters not. She will give him whatever he wants, demands. She will ask for nothing in return. She will welcome his obliteration.

* * *

 

She is surprised when he phrases the question tentatively. The room is dark and she can’t see his face. Only the sound of his voice, the slight hesitation, is apparent to her.

They are still pressed together, tangled in the sheets. His chest rises and falls beneath her head, her fingers tracing the contours of his abdominals. It feels like a safe place, with one of her legs thrown between his, their bodies still slick with sweat.

“You want my help…with that?” Her voice is hushed and she doesn’t turn to look at him.

“It would make it easier.” He says this confidently, but she is sure it is a lie. Why would he need her help when he’s done just fine without any?

But she wonders if this is some sort of offering of goodwill. Some desire to seem transparent, to share something that is so deeply his with her. After all, she is complicit now. There is no denying her involvement anymore. It was one thing for her to turn a blind eye, but she has been going far beyond that for some time now.

It had only been the one request at first: Hannah McKay. And at first he had refused her, but then things changed. And for her part she had protected him; first from LaGuerta’s investigation, then from LaGuerta herself.

Now there was a tenuous agreement. A file slid across his desk when she would duck into his office. Another slipped to him during their rendezvous. No discussion, just a tap of her finger on the manila surface before he would take it quietly from her. A few weeks later he would hand it back, give her a slight nod, sometimes a smile. Sometimes she would manage to smile back, even if she felt sick, even if she hated them both for this.

So she is sure she is just as guilty, just as wrong as he is. Maybe more so. Because she knows how fucked up he is and she can’t figure out any excuse for herself.

Still, this request is uncomfortable. The idea of assisting him, taking action, goes further than almost anything she has done to this point. And yet, when has she ever said no to him?

“Ok.” She whispers, though she can’t imagine this is a smart idea. That it will lead to anything good.

* * *

 

They meet outside the hotel the next night. A swanky place brimming with the trappings of wealth and opulence. She’s wearing some little red number which makes her feel self-conscious, but she enjoys Dexter’s heated stare as they subtly acknowledge each other.

The plan should be easy. She dangles the bait, lures the target away so that Dexter can subdue him and take him to the kill room. Dexter assures her she is exactly his type and when she spots the clean cut face in the hotel bar she shudders.

Somehow she pulls it off, manages to flirt with him as she recalls the brutalized corpses of his victims. She holds it together as his hand comes to rest on her knee, as he whispers in her ear that he wants to be alone with her.

She’s just fine until she watches Dexter slip the needle in his neck in the dark recesses of the parking lot. Suddenly she is frozen, immobilized as she watches him push the man’s limp body into his trunk.

“Deb?” Dexter moves in front of her, wraps one gloved hand around her shaking wrist. “Deb. You need to go home now.”

“Fuck.” She drags her wide eyes away from the car, looks at Dexter. “What the fuck?” Her voice is ragged, hushed. There is a terrible sinking feeling in her gut as she thinks about what happens next. Why had she agreed to this? Why was she digging herself even deeper into this shithole?

“Deb.” Dexter’s voice is sharp and pulls her away from her thoughts. “Go home and wait for me. Everything will be fine.”

She swallows and nods at him. He hesitates a moment longer before dropping her wrist and climbing into the car. The car drives off, leaving Deb alone in the dark with her panicked thoughts.

* * *

 

He is different after a kill. She has learned the signs. A strange combination of aggression and contentment.

She’s still pacing her living room when he comes by, three in the morning, in his kill suit. He looks satiated and reckless, his eyes glinting at her.

“You’re still up.” He seems confused, uncertain as to why she looks so tense.

She opens her mouth to tell him off, to make him understand that her guts have been churning, her head pounding. But she can’t help but think how entirely fucking useless it is and shuts her mouth, sits down and puts her head into her hands.

She can sense his hesitation before he finally moves closer, sits down on her coffee table and waits for her to say something. She doesn’t move for a long time, and when she speaks she can’t quite meet his eye. “I can’t do this again. It’s too fucking much.”

She feels him lean his head down to hers, his lips pressed against her hair. He sighs, tells her with resignation “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

She can feel his hand moving up her bare leg, the anxiety slipping off of her as he pulls her closer. The fear and angst she felt is slowly being pushed out by that liquid heat spreading from her center and across her body.

The niggling thought at the back of her brain, the one that knows she should run far away from him is quieted as his lips make their way from her chin, down her neck.

That aggression she senses in him is stronger than ever as he yanks her clothes away, leaving her exposed and vulnerable to him. When he pushes his fingers inside her he owns her, and she can see the triumph in his face, his victory over her. It feels too fucking good for her to care and she gives in to him, begs him for more of his touch, for her release.

He takes her to bed then, fucks her until she is nearly delirious with pleasure, her body nothing more than a tangle of warm nerves. She curls into his embrace, earlier worries forgotten, feeling secure and loved and drifts off to sleep.

There is an hour of peaceful slumber before she is startled awake by her own bad dreams. She is still coiled around Dexter’s warm body as the anxiety returns to her. She slides away from him, gently slips out of bed and quietly moves out to her desk, turns on the lamp. She sits down in the chair, opens the drawer and pulls out the six, worn, manila folders. She spreads them across her desk like a stack of cards, stares at the names on the tabs.

He might tell her that he shouldn’t have asked for her help. She might have given these to him for some degree of her own satisfaction. But in the end, there is nothing she wouldn’t do for him. Nothing she won’t do to please him. She can still hear Maria’s voice on a night like this, the sound of her screams bouncing off the metal walls.

She knows he is destroying her, ruining her. Yet she can’t stop him, won’t leave him. She will allow him to consume her, because she can’t live without him. 


	6. Cleaning up after an activity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading as always! Hopefully this has been a good sort of intense so far :) lots more to come...

**Prompt: Cleaning up after a favorite activity**

Dexter watches as Deb runs the heel of her hand against her forehead, attempting to brush the hair away from her face. Her gloved hand leaves a crimson smear against her pale skin.

He's not sure how he feels about this. There is a strange mixture of pride and fear. Happiness and disgust.

He rips a napkin off the paper towel roll and steps close to her. He can hear her suck in air as he wipes the blood away carefully.

Their eyes meet and he can feel the tension in their gaze. This was never somewhere he thought he'd find Deb; helping him clean up after a kill. But they have done so many things together in the past year that he could never have imagined.

There's a feeling of sadness that overwhelms him as he looks at her. He thinks he sees it in her eyes too, but then she smiles softly at him and the feeling dissipates.

"Are you okay?" He asks her in a hushed tone.

"You're gonna have to stop fucking asking me that." Deb smirks at him and he marvels again at her strength. After everything he has put her through it is some kind of miracle that she can stand here and smile at him.

An urge out of nowhere finds him leaning down to her, his lips pressing against hers. She stumbles away from him, a questioning look in her eyes. They quickly drop away from him, survey the room.

"They're gonna know something happened with a fucking hole in the mattress." Deb mutters.

Dexter just nods. "I think we got everything. Let's just move the furniture back."

The bed is just back in place when Evelyn appears in the door. "I think everything is cleared downstairs."

"Good." Dexter looks at her. "Let's get you home."

An hour later Deb and Dex watch Vogel wave goodbye from her window. He pulls away from the house and glances at Deb sideways. "I can drop you at home…or you can come to the marina with me…"

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Deb's head turn sharply, her gaze latched onto his profile. At the red light he stops and turns to look at her again. "I'd like you to come with me." He offers uncertainly.

"Why?" He is surprised that she doesn't look angry or disturbed, merely curious.

"I don't know…I guess I just don't want to take you home yet."

"Ok" Deb whispers. She turns her gaze away from him and out the window and he feels like she has gone somewhere else, to a place he can't touch.

They are quiet even while she helps him take the bags from the trunk and places them on the boat. And she still seems lost in her own world when she watches him dump them into the black water. When it's done he takes a seat next to her, watches her take a deep breath as her eyes slide closed.

"I still remember the first time dad took us fishing." She opens her eyes and looks over at him, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I hated that fucking smell. I still do." Deb chuckles. "I swear I can still smell that shit, the fish guts. But somehow I don't mind it right now." She gives him a meaningful look that he's not entirely sure he understands.

She looks lost in thought again, her gaze cast off the opposite side of the boat, staring at the illuminated water from the full moon. "Why'd you bring me here Dex?"

He frowns in her direction, but she still looks away from him. "I didn't want to be alone."

"But you usually do this alone." She suggests quietly.

"Yes. But I've always done a lot of things alone. And now…I guess I don't as much."

"So you prefer not to do things alone?" Deb still won't look at him and he still has this feeling she is not quite there with him.

"I don't know. I haven't really thought about it yet." He tells her uncertainly. "I guess it's easier having company in some ways."

"Easier to mop up the blood?" Deb turns towards him and smirks, her eyes shining in the moonlight. "Are you going to bring me with you again?"

He stares at her for a long time, not sure how to answer, not sure what he wants or what she needs. "Would you want me to?" He finally asks.

He sees it then, a tear sliding down her cheek, another close behind. "No." She says it quietly, resigned.

"But if I asked you? If I needed you?" He thinks he gets it now and he can feel himself holding his breath as he waits for her to respond.

She looks at him sadly and he can feel himself break a little. "I could never say no."

He realizes then that she will never really be ok. He can't look at her any longer and he finds his eyes looking towards the water, trying not to see the damage he has inflicted on her.

"Sometimes I can't believe I still love you." She says this in a low voice and it drifts over to him so quietly that it could almost be a figment of his imagination.

"But you hate me too?" He's afraid to ask, but he still knows he deserves it.

"Maybe. I guess. Fuck. Who knows?" Despite this, Deb scoots closer to him. He can feel her chin resting on his shoulder and turns tentatively in her direction. Her eyes have a haunted quality as they stare back at him. "Why did you kiss me?"

For once he says the first thing that pops into his addled brain. "I wanted to."

"Hmm." Deb closes her eyes, leans into him further. "Are we always going to be this fucked up?"

"Probably." Dexter half jokes, smiles over at Deb. She opens her eyes and smirks back at him.

"As long as we know…" She teases back, a sad note beneath her tone.

Dex leans over, places a kiss on the top of her head. "I can live with it if you can."

Deb sighs softly. "I don't think I have a choice."


	7. Actually Making Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the most amazing scene in Argentina for this, so hopefully it’s worth it!

**7\. Actually Making Up**

_“Oh my god…Are you fucking her?”_

_“Deb, I can explain.”_

_“Oh I know what fucking is, no explanation necessary.”_

_She shakes her head and painfully laughs. “Just get the fuck out.” She doesn’t afford him a second glance as she walks back into her bedroom and shuts the door._

_Dexter sighs, runs his hands through his hair and gives up, heading out the door and on to Isaak._

* * *

 

He won’t bring her candy or flowers. Those weren’t the best way to apologize. Food worked sometimes, but it had to be better than chocolate. And beer always helped. But the best idea, the thing that always made it work, was gin. So there he stood on her doorstep, fifth in hand, and anxiously knocked. With the kids back in Orlando, he would have some time to sort things out with Deb.

See, he had a plan. He knew she wouldn’t speak to him until the third shot, but she would be listening by the time the first went down. And by the fifth she would be feeling nostalgic, open to his gentle words. The sixth would make her cry, but the seventh in quick succession would wash away her tears. And by the ninth she would be smiling at him, and that’s all he needed.

Of course, the first hurdle was getting through the door. And as Deb stood on the other side, visible through the window, arms crossed with a terse expression, he realized that might be more difficult than anticipated.

“Can we talk?” Dexter used his best sad face, the one he reserved for when he was most in trouble. But all this got him was a sterner glare, a longer frown.

“Deb?” But Deb turned away, headed back to her couch, ignoring Dexter on the other side of her locked door.

Dexter sighed, placed the bottle of liquor at his feet and took out his tools. The door was open before Deb could object and she stared at him dismayed. “God you’re such a fucking asshole.” She muttered as he closed the door behind him and went into her kitchen for some glasses.

“We need to talk.”

“No actually, we really fucking don’t.” She watched him bring the glasses and bottle to the couch and settle down next to her. She smirked at him. “You think you can just fix it, just like that?” Her eyes drifted over the bottle and back to him.

“I just want to have a drink with you.” Dexter shrugged nonchalantly and poured some for each of them. He held out the glass for her and she stared at it for a moment before taking it from him and downing it without him. He smiled softly to himself before taking his own shot.

“You remember the first time we drank gin together?” Dexter grinned and glanced sideways at her, catching a glimpse of her scowl before she rolled her eyes and turned her gaze away. Unperturbed, he continued “I think your skin was actually green the next day.” Dexter chuckled to himself.

But he was the only one in the mood to reminisce and he watched as Deb leaned past him and poured herself another drink, downing it then coughing from the after burn.

Dexter took that as his cue and took a steadying breath. “You didn’t give me a chance to explain yesterday. You threw me out before I could tell you anything.”

Deb scoffs “As if you were going to tell me anything about it in the first place. If I hadn’t seen those keys I’d probably still be blissfully ignorant that my stupid shithead brother is dating a fucking serial killer.”

“Deb, she’s not a bad person.” Dexter reasons.

Deb guffaws in return “Not a bad person?! A fucking serial killer is not a bad person?! Fuck, that’s probably what you like so much about her, huh?” Deb grabs the bottle from the table and pours another shot, downing it while Dexter watches.

“You don’t have a fucking clue about anything do you?” Deb shakes her head at him angrily, slamming the bottle and empty glass back down onto the coffee table. “She fucking kills the people closest to her. So if you date her that means you dumbass.”

“Deb, she’s not going to kill me.” He replies, though undeniably he has had his doubts.

“How the fuck do you know?” Deb looks at him hard, realization dawning on her. “She knows about you, doesn’t she?”

Dexter sits silently, his gaze fixed on his hands, answering Deb’s question without opening his mouth.

“Fuck me.” Deb whispers. There’s a silent pause before she chuckles to herself sadly. “It doesn’t take much huh? For you to tell people? You just manage to find every goddamn killer around and befriend them and share your stupid little secret don’t you?” Deb bites her nail as she turns all of it over in her mind once more. “Trinity…” She whispers. “Rudy…no wonder you two were so close.” Deb looks at him sideways, the hurt and pain clear.

“I didn’t know about him then, Deb.” He tries to reassure her. “I didn’t know anything until he already had you.”

But Deb just shakes her head and turns away from him. “Doesn’t fucking matter. You’re the reason for everything bad that ever happens. Fuck…even Rita and Lundy.”

He almost wants to point out that neither would have been in her life to begin with if he hadn’t been in the picture, but he realizes what a poor idea it would be and sighs instead.

“You just don’t care if you hurt me, do you?”

“I’m not trying to hurt you.” Dexter reasons.

“Well you’re doing a pretty fan-fucking-tastic job of it anyways, aren’t you.” Deb plants her feet on the ground and leans forward, turning her head back to look at him. “The best part is as usual you have no fucking clue.”

Dexter returns a confused look as she stares at him, his eyebrows raised in question.

Deb emits a small laugh and then without warning she moves forward suddenly, her lips connecting with his. Dexter doesn’t have time to react and finds himself staring at Deb’s closed eyes, her dark eyelashes. It takes him a moment before he grabs onto her arms and pulls her away. Deb opens her eyes slowly and gives him a blank stare that gives way to a snicker. “You should see your fucking face.” She laughs again and Dexter can feel her body shake between his hands.

For a moment he thinks she must be drunk, but suddenly her expression turns sober. “Don’t you fucking get it?”

“Deb, what’s wrong with you?” Dexter continues to look at her in bewilderment which only makes her angry.

“I’m fucking in love with you moron!” Deb shoves his hands away while he looks at her quizzically.

“I…you…” Dexter’s brow furrows deeper as he stares at his sister in confusion.

“How do you not get it stupid?” Suddenly she climbs into his lap, throwing one leg across him and settling down face to face. Her expression is intense and she presses her palms against his chest. “It all makes sense Dex. Our entire relationship makes sense.” She shakes her head trying to gather her thoughts and make him see. “You’re my entire fucking life whether I like it or not. It’s too late, it’s already done. And now I don’t know how it can ever be anyone but you.”

He stares up at her and tries to understand but he can’t decide if it’s the alcohol’s effect on him or her that makes it so difficult. “You’re my sister.” He tells her hesitantly.

“Don’t you think I fucking get that? Do you know how fucking disturbing this is?” She laughs to herself before continuing. “You’re even a fucking serial killer! But this is it. Every choice in my life, everything has always been about you. You are totally unavoidable. It took me so long to see it, but now I can’t see anything else.”

He looks up at her sadly, “I don’t understand why you think you’re in love with me…”

“Fucking hell!” Deb pushes away from him in frustration, getting up to pace her living room. “I don’t fucking _think_ I’m in love with you – I know it! I think about you constantly. I care way too fucking much. And seeing those fucking car keys yesterday was possibly the most hurtful thing you’ve ever done to me – which is saying a fuck of a lot.”

Dexter shakes his head and gets off the couch, standing in her path so that she’ll look back at him. “I know you’ve thought about this a lot, but it isn’t real. I’m your brother. We’ve been together for as long as we remember. That’s all this is, Deb. You’re not in love with me.” He tries to reason with her because this entire conversation seems so improbable. And he’s more than sure of how unreal it all must be. Because if this was real, if she truly felt this way, he’s not sure what might happen, how he might hurt her more.

“No. You don’t get to fucking tell me how I feel.” Deb looks at him stubbornly.

“Deb…I just don’t know-“

She cuts him off as she closes the distance between them. She wraps her arms around him and holds him close, her chin resting on his shoulder. “Just shut up. Don’t say anything.” She doesn’t want to hear him deny her feelings anymore, or worse tell her he doesn’t feel the same. As prepared as she’s been for a rejection, she doesn’t think she could bear it in this moment.

He wraps his arms around her, pats her awkwardly on the back. “I love you, Deb.” He tells her with conviction, because he wants her to know that it’s always how he felt, even if he couldn’t always understand it, even if he couldn’t give her what she wanted.

She sighs against him and he can hear the tremble in her voice, the tears, as she replies. “Me too.”


	8. Obsessive/Possessive Behavior

**Prompt: Obsessive/Possessive behavior**

Deb can feel his eyes on her across the room. Amongst the dozens of gazes focused on her, their leader, it’s his that penetrates. It takes every ounce of her conviction not to turn her eyes towards his, to suppress the warm feeling brewing beneath her navel. She turns toward the board behind her, finger lifting towards the victim’s picture, the words flowing easily from her mouth, her insides squirming.

She can feel his laser like stare zooming in on her neck, that spot that makes her knees weak, her pulse race. She swallows hard, looks over to Batista and lets him take over so she can step back and take a breath. As Angel describes the search for the perp, she finally allows herself a peek. Deb forces herself to casually scan across the room, her eyes flitting finally to their desired location; the sharp gaze of her own brother.

Dexter acknowledges her look, the rising flush into her cheeks, with a small smile. The edges of his mouth curl up mischievously, mimicking the lustful look he gives her when his fingers find their way between her legs. She’s on the verge of moaning when he cocks his eyebrow at her and chuckles.

“LT?” Angel’s voice is right beside her and she whips her head back to him alarmed. “Any additional thoughts Lieutenant?” Angel asks seriously, but there is a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

Deb’s eyes dart back towards the full room, the many faces impatiently waiting her stare back and she can feel a new kind of flush burning beneath her collar. “Uh…um….I-I think we got it.” Deb grimaces at her stammering, takes a small breath and tries again. “Let’s get back to work.” She says a little too brightly as the department begins to move about and shuffle out of the room. “Fuck.” She mutters beneath her breath.

“You ok Deb?” Angel smiles down at her as she swipes her hand across her forehead.

“Uh, yeah. Just um…my mind was wandering.”

He smiles gently back at her and nods. “I get it. You should probably get some rest, huh?” Angel saunters out of the room nodding at Dexter as he passes.

Alone in the conference room, Dexter’s gaze comes back to her, their eyes locking. “You ok, sis?”

She rolls her shoulders back instead of biting her lip and shrugs at him cooly. “Fine.” She moves towards the door, walking past Dexter in the process. He puts his arm out, blocks her path. Dexter looks down at her slightly, brings his lips next to her ear. “I wouldn’t want you flustered.” He whispers, the heat from his breath causing her to shiver just enough for him to notice. He pulls back slightly, satisfied.

But Deb is proud, and letting him win so easily is not an option. “Don’t worry bro, I’m cool as a fucking cucumber.” She smirks at him as the door to the conference room swings open, interrupting them.

Quinn stands in the doorway, clutching a file, an eager expression on his face. “Uh Deb…can I talk to you?”

Deb smiles back at him warmly. “Sure.” Without a second glance at her brother she follows Quinn out the door with a flippant “See ya Dex.”

Warily, Dexter follows them out of the conference room slowly moving back to his lab as Deb leans towards Quinn, quietly pointing at the file they share. Once in his office with the door closed, he stares out through the blinds, takes note of the way Deb leans over Quinn, one hand on his shoulder. He frowns at the interaction then determinedly shuts his blinds with a snap. Out in the main room the sound draws Deb’s attention and she glances up at Dexter’s now hidden office. Satisfied, she smiles to herself and thinks that maybe she has managed to teach him a lesson.

* * *

Hours later Dexter stands at the threshold to Deb’s office, the lamp on her desk the only source of illumination in the deserted department. It doesn’t take him long to realize she is too engrossed in her work to notice his presence and he clears his throat conspicuously eliciting a startled gasp from her as her head jerks up to see him. Seeing his smirk she sighs, rubs her fingers against her forehead, “Fuck, you startled me.”

“Planning on working all night?” Dexter slides into her office further, sidling up to her desk.

“So many fucking things to read.” Deb mumbles more to herself than him. Her head is still bowed over the open file as she chews on a nail all but forgetting his hovering company.

Impatiently Dexter reaches over, pulls on an edge of the file, forcing Deb to pull her hands away as he closes it purposefully. “I think you’ve had enough.” There’s something menacing under his playful tone. Something sharp enough to cause her not to argue, pushing away from her desk instead so she can stand up and find herself at eye level with him.

Deb comes around the desk but Dexter blocks her path and steps close to her. “Seems like you and Quinn are getting along these days.”

Deb looks at him askance and shrugs non-committedly. “I think he’s over it.”

“Over you?” Dexter asks skeptically. “That’s not how it looks to me. I would say you two looked a bit cozy.”

Deb frowns at him, partially pleased that he seems irritated yet concerned that she may have pushed it too far. “It was nothing.” She replies casually. But when she tries to move past him he grabs on to her hip and guides her back to meet the desk behind her.

“It wasn’t nothing.” His eyes bore into hers, the gaze heated and demanding. “I see how he looks at you. I saw the way you touched him.”

“I was helping him with a fucking case.” Deb fights back. She thinks about pushing him back, but the feel of his firm body against hers feels too fucking good.

“You won’t touch him again. You won’t be doing that anymore.” Dexter tells her sternly.

Deb scoffs bitterly. “What? You think you can tell me what the fuck I’m allowed to do?” She pushes at him harshly, done with the conversation and angry enough to want him gone. But Dexter is like a boulder, totally immovable, her hard shove barely warranting a flicker of movement from him.

He leans further into her. “I think you’ll listen.” Before Deb can curse at him again, he presses his palm against the seam of her jeans, pushing it against her clit, sending delicious sparks across her hips.

His palm rotates steadily as he nuzzles her neck and grazes his scruff against her skin. “You’re mine.” He growls against her ear, his nose brushing against her cheek.

“Dex…” Breathlessly, Deb looks up at him and moans despite her lingering anger.

“Say it. Tell me you’re mine.” He commands her, his voice burning in her ear.

“No…” Deb manages softly as his fingers push against her, his other hand popping open the button of her jeans and coaxing the zipper down. His wicked hand slips quickly inside her jeans and past her panties. Her eyes slide closed as his fingertips make contact with her bare flesh. His free hand slides up her back, holding her in place.

“Mine” He whispers as he watches her head fall back and her lips part.

Past the point of all argument, Deb’s only response is “Uhhh…”

“You belong to me.” He tells her as he slides a finger into her wet heat and uses his thumb to tease her clit.

Too lost in her pleasure, Deb doesn’t even respond, testing Dexter’s thin patience.

“Deb, look at me. Open your eyes.” This time he moves his hand away from her back and roughly yanks her chin down. “Tell me.”

She whimpers quietly but her eyes gradually open, locking onto his scorching gaze. “Yes…yes.” She struggles to catch her breath. “I’m yours…y-yours.” Deb stammers out.

Finally satisfied he leans down and roughly kisses her, pulling her lower lip between his teeth. He stops his ministrations long enough to undo his pants and free his stiff cock. He yanks on Deb’s jeans and gaining access he pushes into her with reckless abandon.

Having finally given into him Deb reaches for Dex, her hands clutching at his shoulders as she gasps with pleasure. They move roughly together, their hushed groans filling her office. He takes her lips in a hurried kiss, their gaze holding despite their coarse movements.

“Mine.” He tells her once more and it’s enough for her to go spinning into oblivion, shouting his name as her orgasm hits her. He follows close behind, holding tightly to her, her name on his lips.

They are still as their pleasure subsides, but he doesn’t let go of her just yet. “I don’t want you touching him again.” It’s less a request than a demand and instruction.

Yet Deb surprises herself when she nods complacently and kisses his lips. “I’m yours” She agrees, because she knows that its true.


	9. Destruction

**Prompt: Destruction of furniture/property/domestic violence**

The frame whizzes past his ear and hits the wall behind him, making a cracking sound on impact. When it hits the ground he can hear the shattering of the glass and he glances away from her towards the fallen object. The frame holds his favorite picture of them, the one taken right before she graduated from the academy; the two of them smiling, his arm around her. The picture lies beneath the fragmented glass, the spidery veins cutting across their image. It seems accurate, seeing their faces broken apart, just like their lives.

He forces himself to look back at her, across the destruction she has wreaked in his living room, to where she stands, glaring at him. She picks up the next closest item on his desk, his stapler, and hurls this at him as well. He has to jump out of its way, because Deb’s pitch has always been accurate and strong.

This moment strikes him as oddly cartoonish. His belongings scattered about him, his sister lividly throwing them at him. He wishes he could laugh at the absurdity. He wants her to laugh as well, until the tension leaves the room. Then they can pick up the mess, grill up a few steaks, enjoy dinner together like they used to. But he realizes that this hope is absurd as well.

“Deb, please.” He uses his best calming tone, the one he reserves for putting his son to sleep. “Can we just talk about this?”

“Fuck you!” She picks up the file sitting on this desk and chucks this at him as well. Half the contents fall out of the manila folder, flutter up into the air and float back down, white sheets swaying between them. When the air clears he can see her, bent over the desk, her body trembling as she sobs.

He steps tentatively towards her, hesitating as he reaches her side. He places one hand on her back, moves closer, and is caught off guard when she swings around and shoves him back. He stumbles back into the refrigerator, and struggles to stay on his feet to face her.

“Deb?”

But she won’t look at him, her body turned away, one hand holding onto the desk for support as she continues to sob. He can’t tell anymore if she is angry or sad, but as usual it is his fault. As with most situations that cause her pain, this is definitely his fault.

He knew this would not be happy news to her. He wasn’t even entirely sure that it was happy news for him. Running away was never something he had wanted to do. But he thought this might be right. Escape Miami before he’s found out, before things become even worse for Deb. Get out while the getting’s good and all that. After all, had Harry really expected that he could survive his entire life in Miami, unseen as he lurks and kills?

So a new place seemed smart. He had faced enough suspicion over the years to know that it was only a matter of time before it all caught up with him. And look what happened last time. Look at what it did to Debra.

Still, he wasn’t all that excited to go. Not as excited as Hannah at least.

Argentina. A future bright with possibilities. That’s what she kept telling him.

Hannah: the right choice. The choice that made sense to him, he thought. Hannah was a killer. Hannah understood his needs. Hannah wouldn’t be hurt by what he was. And that seemed especially important after the last six months, after the things that Deb had been through.

If he allowed himself to ponder what this future would look like it might make him stop. Which was why he pushed through, the reason he latched onto Hannah’s certainty and hope. Even now as he watches Deb’s shaking figure he thinks that it’s only right to spare her any future pain. She’s been through enough because of him. It’s time she had a fighting chance at happiness.

But he’s also not sure she’d agree. He still remembers that night on her patio vividly. And he thinks now that her confession rang true, even if he thinks it would be better for her if it wasn’t.

So leaving is best. Even if it means breaking Deb’s heart now. Even if there is nothing he can do to console her.

He watches as her body stills, as she swipes her hand across her face and brushes the moisture onto her jeans. She turns slightly until her profile is visible in the dim light of his apartment and he can see the redness in her eyes, the flush in her cheeks.

“You’ve never loved me.” Her tone is as resigned as her posture but the words cut him wide open. How can she not understand that he is doing this for her, because he loves her?

“Have a nice life.” Deb whispers as she slides towards the door.

“Deb. It doesn’t have to be like this. I need you in my life. I’ll call, I’ll visit…you’re still my sister.”

Deb sighs a little. “And you’ll always be my brother. But you can’t just leave me here and act like it’s all fucking okay.” She turns around finally, leaning back against the door as she considers him. But before he can say another word she moves. Her long legs close the gap between them, her hands wrap around his neck and her lips graze his.

His eyes slide close in immediate response, warmth starting at their joined mouths and sliding across his chest, sinking into his stomach. He leans into her further, his hands latching onto her hips so he can pull their bodies together. She deepens the kiss, her tongue brushing his lips so his mouth opens for her.

It’s a long a languid minute before she finally pulls back just enough for their lips to separate. She looks into his eyes, open and vulnerable, a side of Deb that few people see. “Just once. I just needed to once.”

He can see the tears forming again in her eyes and she drops her hands, steps out of his grip. She’s still holding his gaze, but he can feel her slipping away from him. “Goodbye Dexter.”

He can’t find any words. Nothing that will make her stay. Nothing that will bridge this divide he has created. He knows now that he has made his choice, even if it was the wrong one.

He watches her leave because there is nothing else he can do. She pulls the door shut behind her and he stands there lost, adrift. He has lost more than a sister, more than a love. He knows now that he did have a soul. The only problem is it was hers. And now that it is gone, there is nothing left but the void.


	10. Concerned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have to admit that at points I have really liked the idea of Quinn and Deb. Mostly because it was always apparent how deeply he loved her, even if he was a total screw up about half the time! Meanwhile Dexter is an asshole all of the time…poor Deb…  
> Anyways, I’m having so much fun with these and I’m glad you guys seem to also!

**Prompt: Concerned third party asks about their relationship dynamic**

Quinn presses his fingers into his temples, lets his head droop towards his desk as he fights his hangover. He groans loudly when Batista dumps a shitload of files in front of him with a loud bang.

“Fuck man. Can’t you see I’m struggling here?” Quinn leans back, drops his head against the back of his chair.

“And that my friend, is why you’re going to do all of my paperwork.” Angel grins at him menacingly.

“Angel…”

“Naw man. You can’t keep coming in here in this state and expect me not to get pissed off at you.” He taps the pile until Quinn brings his head upright. “This better be done by lunch because there’s more waiting.” Angel turns on his heel and Quinn glares at his retreating back.

Sighing he reaches for the top of the pile and flips it open. He couldn’t understand what Batista was bitching about. He hadn’t been doing such a bad job lately, mostly keeping his head on straight and not partying too hard. But he was a young, single guy. Shouldn’t he be having some fun?

His eyes drift towards the opening elevator and he watches Deb and Dex step off of it and head into Dexter’s office. He can’t help but notice the tension in Deb’s shoulders, the grimace on her face.

He knows she shouldn’t be his concern. She had made that perfectly fucking clear. But part of him couldn’t help caring. And he had noticed the stress on her more and more. This was different than when she first took on the role of Lieutenant. As anxious as she had been about it, she had handled it well.

No, this was a different sort of problem nagging her. Something that wasn’t about work, and was more likely about home.

He stared towards Dexter’s office, watched as Deb and Dexter scanned the bullpen and Dexter reached out and flipped the blinds shut. He squinted towards the now blocked windows worriedly.

Their relationship had always been odd. But at some point he had accepted their closeness. Sure, he didn’t feel the need to call his siblings about just anything. Or have a regular meal with them. Or do the occasional sleepover. But surely there were people like that? People who seemed to put their siblings before every other relationship in their lives?

Really, could he blame Deb? She had no other family, had been to hell and back more than once. So the way she leaned on Dexter could make sense. She always said how much she counted on him; how she knew he’d always be there for her.

But those old feelings about Dexter, those same suspicions in the back of his mind, had always made him wonder if her trust lay in the wrong place. Dexter was definitely not some bastion of perfection, like Deb made him out to be. And not that he himself was perfect either, but Dexter had always seemed to hate him a bit more than necessary.

He’s still staring at the windows to Dexter’s office when he sees Deb come out the other door. Head buried in a file she moves to her office, shutting the door behind her. Without thinking he gets to his feet, steps towards her office.

He ignores Batista’s protests and knocks on her door, hearing her call him in. Pulling her eyes away from the file she looks up at him, raises a questioning eyebrow as she watches him close the door.

“I ah…wanted to ask you about something. Ya know…personal?”

Deb rolls her eyes at him. “Fuck Quinn. I thought we were done with this conversation. I can’t do this right now.” Deb’s eyes are already focusing back on the blood report in front of her.

“No. Not about us. About Dexter.” Deb’s eyes come up, latching onto his. “And you.”

He swears he can see her flush as she furrows her brow at him and waits for him to continue.

“I just thought something might be wrong? You’ve seemed a little out of sorts.”

He watches Deb’s hands fold in front of her as she pulls her shoulders back, looking like she is ready for a fight. “What are you talking about?”

He can recognize the tone. Her ‘I don’t know what the fuck you want but I’m not taking any bullshit’ tone. “You just seem a little stressed out.” Quinn shrugs as nonchalantly as he can manage.

“Have you seen the fucking board? I think you should be a little more stressed out.” Deb grinds out as her eyes narrow.

“Look, Deb, I’m not talking about work. Okay? I know you can handle that. I’m asking, as a friend, if everything is alright. If you need to talk.”

Her gaze on him seems to falter. For a moment she seems vulnerable, fearful. But she remains silent.

“Is it Dexter? Is everything okay with him?” Quinn sounds increasingly suspicious. “Is everything okay between you two?” The concern in his voice is growing.

Deb sits frozen, staring up at him, her expression impossible to read. He thinks he may be on to something and takes a half step closer. “Deb, you know you can talk to me. I know we have a history, but I’m still here for you. If something is wrong-“

She cuts him off abruptly, getting to her feet, her hands planted on the desk so that she leans forward slightly. “I’m fine. Dexter is fine. And I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t need to talk to you about anything besides work.” There’s a coolness in her tone, in her posture and it takes him aback. He can’t help but feel hurt.

He nods awkwardly and steps back. Looking at her, he is more convinced that nothing is alright. But she doesn’t want him or his help and maybe it was time for him to accept that. “Well…my offer stands. Just so you know…”

Deb doesn’t reply, just stands straight, folds her arms over her chest and cocks her head at him. Quinn takes his cue and leaves her office, shutting the door behind him.

As he walks back to his desk he notices Dexter, standing just outside of his office, staring at him. As Quinn takes his seat he watches Dexter move towards Deb’s office, a menacing glint directed at him.

The door shuts behind Dexter and once more the blinds are closed. He glances around the bullpen, wonders why no one else sees anything odd between the Morgans.

Sighing, he runs his hands over his face. He needs fresh air; fuck Batista and his fucking files. He grabs his jacket and heads down to the coffee truck, vowing to give Lieutenant Morgan a wide berth.


	11. Restrictions of Outside Contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one came out a little short, but it’s more of a future timeframe than some of the others! I know I say this a lot, but thanks so much for reading! Hope you’ll keep doing it :)

**Prompt: Restrictions of outside contact/Stockholm Syndrome/Confinement**

Deb shifts uncomfortably, worrying hard at a hangnail with her incisors. Next to her Harrison stares down at his not so American meal unhappily. He sighs, “I don’t want to eat this.”

But Deb’s attention is focused a few yards away, where Dexter stands smiling brightly at some young blond thing.

Fed up, Harrison tugs on her arm, bringing her gaze back down to him. “I said, I don’t want to eat this!”

Deb huffs annoyed. “Well Harrison, I don’t know what to tell you.”

He crosses his arms over his small chest and frowns at her in response, refusing to eat. Dexter returns just in time, sitting on Harrison’s other side and bringing his son’s pleading eyes over to him. “Dad, I can’t eat this.”

He knows just how to play him, his mouth drooping unhappily so that Dexter pulls out a fresh bill from his wallet. “One soda, one hot dog. That’s it.”

He gives Harrison a meaningful look and Deb tries not to roll her eyes, point out how his 8 year old just manipulated him.

The kid shuffles off without further argument, leaving Dexter to deal with his other unhappy companion. He lifts his eyebrows questioningly at her, trying not to look as confused as he feels since that always seems to piss her off further.

“Who was that?” Deb mutters, her head tilting back to where Dexter had been earlier.

“The girl in the shop?” Dexter asks uncertainly.

“The blonde girl you were flirting with.” Deb flatly replies. “What’s with you and the fucking blonde girls anyways?” Deb eyes him distrustfully.

Dex just shakes his head doubtfully. “What are you talking about?”

Deb scoffs in return, turns her gaze away from him as she stews.

“Hey.” Dexter scoots closer, skims his fingers along her arm. She merely shifts her arm away from him, her eyes returning to his.

“What were you talking about?” Deb mumbles.

“I was asking about the table.” His hand covers hers and she looks down at it, sees the way the light shines off the ring on his finger. “I thought my wife would like it.”

She wants to feel settled by this response, trusting even. But she can’t think of a time in all these years that she has felt anything remote to trust. Guilt, anger, sadness. These are things she is familiar with. And of course the bitter taste in her mouth now, that is familiar too.

She pulls away from him again, her hand moving abruptly enough that his thuds onto the table abandoned.

“Deb….what do you want me to say? It was nothing.”

“I didn’t fucking like it. Okay?” She can feel her anger rising. “You know how I feel.”

“We’re safe.” He attempts to reassure her.

“How the fuck do you know?!” She replies forcefully, a hushed yet sharp response. “The less we talk to people, the less chance anyone can remember us to fucking tell anyone anything.”

“We still need to blend in.” He tries to reason with her.

Deb rolls her eyes in return, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at him the way Harrison did to her just moments before. If Dexter didn’t know better he would swear they were related.

He slides his arm around her lower back and places a kiss on her bare shoulder. “I wasn’t trying to upset you.” He places another kiss behind her ear. “We’re going to be ok, you know that right?” As usual he finds himself trying to calm her, trying to stop her from regretting overturning her entire life for him.

She sighs and tries to let go of it. As much as it still upsets her, this is their life now. To be honest it had been for quite some time. She looks over at him again and kisses him. As much as she loves him she knows she will never really trust him or their situation.

He tangles her fingers with his and kisses her again. “You’re the only one I want.”

It’s a phrase he’s told her many times, one she has yet to fully believe. She knows he’s had his options, his opportunities with other women. And she knows he has never betrayed her in that way. But when their whole relationship was built on a pack of lies, when the ugly truth took so long to be exposed, who can blame her for her doubt?

So why does she stay, she wonders. Why does she live this life with him when she’s had other options too? She thinks about Joey sometimes, wonders if this clusterfuck was worth leaving him behind. But if she were honest with herself she would know this was the only thing she ever wanted; Dexter completely to herself. Deb sighs and leans against him.

He kisses the top of her head and leans in, “I love you Deb.”

She can’t really believe him, but she chooses to pretend that she does. “I love you too” she whispers. And maybe that will be enough.


	12. Lying to each other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've belated realized that I'm half way which is super exciting! Anyways, had a little fun with this one as usual - hopefully you all enjoy! And thanks as always for reading and reviewing!

**Prompt: Lying to each other**

He catches her eye sideways and for just a second there is something else. A flash of skin, sweat slicked. The sound of breathing right next to her ear. Boiling lust rolls through her, clenches her gut, slides lower. It is gone in an instant and she shudders away the feeling.

"Deb." Right in her ear, his voice husky. Or is she just imagining that?

It nearly makes her jump out of her skin and she stumbles away from him. She wants to shove him aside as well, create more distance. But she fears touching him will give her away.

"What?!" The anger slides into place easily, masking anything else.

He raises his eyebrows, surprise or perhaps a question as to what has brought on her irritation. But she crosses her arms over her chest, tilts her head down and gives him that exasperated glance.

He takes his cue. "We should discuss Fisher." Their latest suspect, who she wouldn't even know about if she hadn't demanded Dexter share all of his findings. They had had this discussion before. He wasn't to take any more cases away from her. But old habits…

She turns on her heel, storming through the chaotic department and into the break area. She yanks open the freezer while he watches curiously and finds her precious box of thin mints tucked in the back. Now that she's lieutenant she never has to worry that these may suddenly disappear.

She tears into the crinkly plastic wrap and stuffs one into her mouth fervently. Deb keeps her back to Dexter as she chews feverishly, popping a second one into her mouth before she's even swallowed the first. Her eyes catch the nutrition label and she groans, she should really go back to smoking before this shit made her fat. Like Masuka said, die young and leave a hot corpse. _Fuck, did I just quote Masuka?_

"Deb?" Dexter breaks into her thoughts cautiously. "Are you ok?" he gestures to the box in her hand and she scowls in return, slamming the box onto the counter behind her and crossing her arms over her chest.

She barely bothers to cover her mouth as she asks him again "What?!" With her mouth full the sound is muffled and the crumbs of the cookie hit her hand. She frowns further, swipes her hand against her jeans and makes a face at her brother.

"Fisher…" Dexter sighs and glances around. With everyone out of earshot he steps closer and lowers his voice. "Are you going to let me take care of this?"

Deb swallows dryly. "What the fuck?!" She harshly whispers. "Why is this your fucking solution to everything?"

"You know why." Dexter grinds out. "You're not going to be able to do this the way you'd like to. So just let me do it my way."

"Ugh!" Deb grunts as she smacks him on the chest. She makes enough noise that a few heads turn, but no one ever seems surprised by the Morgan siblings' interactions and they simply shrug it off and turn away again.

"Seriously. What the fuck is wrong with you."

"Deb." Dexter replies warningly.

"No, I can't even fucking deal with this shit right now." She snatches the Girl Scout cookie box off the counter and stomps back to her office with Dexter at her heels.

He waits until she has sat at her desk and put her head into her hands then shuts her door and draws the blinds. Dexter takes a deep breath and sits down across the desk from her. "Deb, just let me make this go away."

She looks up at him astounded. "You're talking about a FUCKING PERSON you dipshit!" Deb's voice cracks as she hurls the insult and Dexter grimaces, sure that the sound permeated her office.

"Deb." He warns again before continuing on. "I've told you I want to be honest with you."

"Since when, huh? Since I gave you no other fucking choice? Since I walked into that fucking church and _saw_ you?" She can feel herself choking up at the memory; the thought that she helped him cover up a crime that he commits with alarming frequency makes her stomach turn. She looks away from him because it's just too hard to look in his eyes. How is it possible to love him so much when she feels sick at the thought of him? And how does she say no to who he is? His unavoidable truth?

"I only wanted to protect you." Dexter's voice is hushed as he leans forward in his chair.

"Yeah, well good job on that." Deb scoffs in return.

"Maybe it's time for this to stop." Dexter replies quietly. "I was right to keep this from you."

Deb nods with hesitation. "So we go back to the lying?"

"It was easier. Weren't you happier when I was just your brother?"

Deb's eyes slide towards him and she wonders if he knows her darkest desires. She wonders if he chooses to ignore them the way he proposes she ignores his darkness now. Isn't it easier? To pretend that he's not a serial killer? To pretend she's not in love with him? Maybe this lying, this pretending, this ignoring the thing that is screaming in your face really is the answer.

She cocks her head at him without an answer. "I've got a lot of work to do. Plenty of cases still on the board."

"And Fisher?"

"Not enough evidence." Deb shrugs. "He'll trip up eventually and we'll nail him then." She lifts her gaze squarely to Dexter's.

"Or maybe he'll get what's coming to him before he can hurt anyone else." Dexter suggests.

Deb sighs sadly. "Maybe. But for now I've got other things to worry about."

Dexter nods and leaves quietly, shutting the door behind him.

In the quiet of her office Deb takes a deep breath and pushes thoughts of Dexter, good and bad, to the recesses of her mind. She can feel the stress crawling along her neck and across her shoulders and longs for the taste of a cigarette between her lips. Instead her eyes slide over to the box of thin mints. _As long as we're pretending._

She pulls two out and stuffs them into her mouth in quick succession. The sweetness hits her tongue and she rolls her shoulders back. Before she can allow her thoughts to meander back to the conversation, to Dexter, she plucks a file off the top of the pile and flips it open. Maybe she can't do everything the way she'd like, to fix it all and make it right. But she doesn't have to pretend about everything, she doesn't have to lie all the time. At least in this moment maybe she can do the honest thing. With that thought she grabs a couple more cookies and delves into the case.


	13. Verbal Abuse/Humiliation

**Prompt: Verbal Abuse/Humiliation**

“You hanging out with me Saturday night, Morgan?”

Facing her locker, Deb blushes as she exchanges her books. She composes herself, back into her cool girl persona, and turns around to face Adam. Soccer team star, senior year hottie Adam, asking her out was about as good as it got. Deb closes her locker casually and leans her shoulder against it as she considers him.

“Where the fuck you taking me?” Deb asks wryly.

Adam chuckles. Deb may not be a girly girl, but it turns out there were plenty of boys who liked her potty mouth and her toughness. They liked to tell her how easy it was to get along with a girl who enjoyed sports and wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. Probably didn’t hurt that she wasn’t a prude either.

And it definitely didn’t hurt that she hid her insecurities well. It had been a tough year for Debra. At 15 she was losing her mother, her father ignored her and her brother was distant. She felt alone, isolated and scared nearly all the time. But to her so called friends at school, none of this was apparent. To the cool crowd that Deb hung out with she was the girl with the pretty face, the filthy mouth, and the ‘don’t fuck with me’ attitude. And they liked her for it. They liked her so much they didn’t notice she wasn’t all that fond of them.

But this is what Debra needed to survive. To feel some semblance of acceptance from anyone was possibly the last shred of sanity in her otherwise crumbling life. To have found that acceptance from the popular kids had been unexpected. So even though she found the girls vain and annoying, even though the boys were the same, it was better than nothing. At least at school she could pretend her future didn’t look dismal, that someone loved her. And as superficial as she knew this to be, it was all she had left.

“Ya know, the usual. Pizza, a movie…that spot over on Foster Street.” Adam lifts his eyebrows suggestively at her.

Deb scoffs in return but smiles at him coyly. She knows the spot well. Where most of her crowd spends Saturday night behind the privacy of fogged up windows. “We’ll see about that.”

Adam smiles and swings an arm around her shoulders, guiding her over to where the others stand. The group of five is staring down the hall and Susan turns to smile at Debra. “I don’t get it Deb. How are you so normal and your brother is so weird?” The redhead nods towards the direction the others are looking in as Dexter walks awkwardly down the hall, his head bowed and his shoulders hunched. Deb watches him as he stops at his locker, fiddling with the dial before pulling the metal door open.

“He’s not that weird.” Deb mumbles, thinking of the many times she has defended her brother over the years. The truth is that Dexter only seems to get stranger. By all accounts at school he was quiet, awkward. But Deb knew he wasn’t really the same big brother she had for so long adored. They didn’t talk the way they once did. He never seemed to be around for her anymore. She wondered if the boy that she had loved so dearly as a child was gone. She wondered if they would become those adults that didn’t really like each other.

And to top it off she couldn’t help but resent him. In truth she envied how their father seemed to care so much more for him. She’d find them often, huddled together, deep in conversation which would end abruptly upon her arrival. Then there were the hunting trips they would go on together, leaving her alone with her sick mother. It’s not that she minded taking care of her mother. But it often felt like they didn’t want her around. And she wondered what would happen to her once her mother was gone.

She still tried though, to get them to notice her. That so called stunt with the gun last year, the one that had gotten her grounded for a month, was only an effort to feel included. Why was her excitement about becoming a cop so easily dismissed by her father who bled blue? Why did her father go out of his way for a child that wasn’t even his and disregard his own flesh and blood?

So maybe the truth was that she hated Dexter a little. Maybe even more than a little. She remembers a time when she used to find comfort in Dexter’s presence, sleep on his bedroom floor just to be near him. But now she couldn’t even look at him without feeling angry. So in this moment, standing with the cool crowd that seemed to care for her more than her own family, she no longer wanted to defend him.

Swirling a lock of blonde hair around her finger, Trisha chimes in. “Oh, I think he’s just shy. It’s kinda sweet really. Plus he’s totally the reason I passed bio last year.”

“No.” Deb shakes her head, her gaze still on her brother. “Susan was right.” She watches Dexter walk towards them, his head still bowed, eyes on the ground. “Dexter is weird.” She waits until he is in earshot before she speaks again. “Dexter’s a complete fucking freak.”

Deb smirks as she says this and her delivery elicits a round of snickers from her friends who are always more than happy to put everyone else down. Dexter seems unphased, and continues to walk by, only bothering to lift his eyes and glance at Deb. But in that split second look their eyes meet and Deb feels the burning shame of being so cruel to someone who doesn’t deserve it.

Her gaze follows him as he turns the corner and Adam squeezes her shoulder. “Come on Morgan, we’ll be late to class.” She pulls her eyes back to the cute boy draped around her and gives him a small smile. But the look Dexter gave her stays with her for the rest of the day.

* * *

As she looks over the backyard from the kitchen window that evening, Deb can hear her mother upstairs coughing. Doris couldn’t even come down to the dinner table anymore. Deb usually had to be the one to attempt to feed her mother dinner, a task which was becoming more and more depressing as Debra saw her mother’s appetite decrease. Deb sighs, drops her gaze to the dishes in her hand and stares at the foam covering her fingers. She can feel the bubble growing in her throat, the tears welling in her eyes and wants nothing more than to burst into tears.

“You okay?” Dexter interrupts her thoughts and Deb blinks the tears away as she scrubs the dish in her hand fervently.

“What do you want?” Deb asks him gruffly.

He can hear the pain in her voice and shuffles awkwardly in the door of the kitchen, unsure of what to do. “I…I was just wondering how Mom is doing?” Dexter asks her tentatively.

“Mom’s dying. How do you think she’s doing?” Deb answers quietly, hoping her breaking voice won’t betray her harsh attitude.

“I’m sorry Deb.” He can hear Deb scoff in response though she doesn’t say anything. She is still turned away from him and though he has never been good at reading situations, though he and Deb have drifted apart lately, he still gets that she needs something. Truthfully, he feels sorry for her. He knows how much she feels things. So to be watching her mother die, to see Dexter and Harry spend so much time together and be left out, for him to hide so much from her, he understands that she would be in pain. And even though he keeps his distance for her sake, he does care about her and he wants to see her happy.

Dexter wishes Harry hadn’t insisted they stop spending time together. It had confused Dexter completely. Here Harry was demanding that Dexter act normal, and Deb provided so much of that normalcy for so long. So why had Harry told him they were too close? Why did Harry feel the need for Dexter to have different friends?

But Harry hadn’t been in a mood to explain himself, so Dexter trusted his adoptive father because he had no one else to turn to. At least Deb had found friends. Even if they were the same people that teased and judged him, even if Deb did the same, at least he hoped she was happy. And to be honest, he didn’t mind what had happened today, because in some ways she had every right to hurt him with all the pain he was causing her.

But Dexter doesn’t know how to explain all of this to Deb. So instead he steps a little closer and hesitantly places his hand on her shoulder. He knows she might just swing around and punch him, or maybe she’ll ignore him entirely. Instead he feels her shoulders droop and suddenly she turns and hurls herself at him. Her arms encircle him and she buries her face against his shoulder, suddenly sobbing, her body shaking against his.

Uncertainly, Dexter awkwardly wraps his arms around her and waits for her to calm. She pulls away finally and steps back, feeling suddenly self-conscious about her outburst. She stares at the crooked tiles beneath her feet as she thinks again of the look Dexter gave her in the hallway. Finally working up the nerve she looks up at her big brother who stares back at her uncomfortably. “I’m sorry about today, Dex. I was just…” Deb snorts quietly. “I was just being an asshole like my friends.”

She smirks softly at him and he smiles in return, shrugging it off. “It’s no big deal.”

To Deb it’s like looking at the brother she hasn’t seen in so long. The one who seemed to care about her. The one who was patient and kind and always a shoulder for her lean on. Seeing him now she is comforted to know he hasn’t disappeared for good. And she can feel that glow of love for him once again. Maybe things weren’t the same as they once were, but it gave her hope that one day they might be.

“Yeah, it is. You’re my brother. And you don’t deserve that. I won’t do it again.” Deb tells him sincerely. For a quiet moment they look at each other and Dexter wants badly to reassure her, to let her know that he does deserve it and that she can say whatever she needs to and he won’t mind. But her expression turns sad and he waits for her to speak instead.

“You won’t leave me, will you, Dex?” She looks at him miserably. “Mom’s dying and Dad doesn’t give a fuck. I can’t lose you too.” She begins to cry again, softer this time and Dexter watches as the tears slide down her cheeks, drop off her chin.

He steps closer to her again and hugs her once more. “We’ll be ok, Deb.” He promises, even though he already knows it isn’t true.

 


	14. BDSM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this series demands some boundary pushing and I think this is probably one of those chapters…but hopefully in a good way! Plus smut ;)
> 
> I'm anxious about this chapter, but you guys have stuck with me this far so thanks for that!

**Prompt: BDSM**

Deb attempts to slow her breathing, even out her heart which is thumping loudly against her chest. She can sense him in the room, but from the darkness of her makeshift blindfold it is impossible to tell where he stands. The whole scenario makes her uncomfortable and she tugs against her restraints, feeling the rope chafe against her wrists then her ankles. Yet that discomfort is surprisingly arousing, she can feel the wetness pooling between her thighs, her nipples hardening.

Dexter stands in the corner and watches this. The dim glow in the room illuminates her nude form. There is enough light for him to watch the tense way she breathes, how her body squirms against its restraints. He's already hard, just staring at her, enjoying her unease. He always finds comfort in the control he wields in any situation, and this is certainly no different.

Deb moans suddenly, the quiet tension in the room more than she can quite cope with. Dexter takes a half step closer "Shhh…" and watches as her body tenses again. Her hips lift slightly further and he knows that she enjoys this, even if she finds it unnerving. Her head turns in the direction of his voice but she remains silent, her uncertainty muting her.

Oh so quietly Dexter moves to the other side of the bed, his naturally discreet footfall being put to good use. Deb gasps when she feels the bed shift around her as Dexter places his hands on the bed on either side of her waist and leans forward. "Relax Deb." He whispers and he can hear a low moan in the back of her throat as he brushes the scruff of his chin over her clavicle. Dexter allows his eyes to slowly rove down her body and back up, taking pleasure in having her at his mercy.

Deb waits in silence, unable to understand why she enjoys this so much. Why it feels so fucking good to relinquish everything to him, to put her trust securely in his hands. If she allowed herself to ponder it she might think it has something to do with no longer trusting him at all. She might consider that all the trust she had in him before she knew, all the trust that had vanished that night in the church, was something she missed. And to play this role here, to have no choice but to trust him completely was oddly cathartic. In some way it made her feel loved again, made her feel secure.

Dexter sits down next to her, careful not to touch. His gaze wonders across the restraints at her ankles, tied to opposite ends of the bed, then up to where her wrists are bound together, the rope pulled taught and attached to the headboard. Satisfied that she will go nowhere he considers her again, thinks of all the things he can do with her at his mercy.

He starts at her belly button, blows gently across her skin and Deb responds with a sharp intake of air. He is about to touch her in that spot when his eyes catch the glistening moisture on her inner thigh. He groans to himself and pulls his eyes towards her face. "You want me." He tells her as he skims his fingers across her stomach lightly.

"Fuck….Yes." Deb shakily responds, desperate that the teasing stops so that they can get on with it.

"How do you want me?" Dexter asks huskily as he moves back up her body. He's close enough now that she can feel the heat from his body, but he doesn't touch her. Without warning he takes a nipple in his mouth and Deb grunts loudly as he teases it with his tongue.

He releases her nipple and continues up, placing a kiss in the crook of her neck before pausing next to her ear. "What should I do to you?"

There's an odd mix of threat and sex in his tone and it only elevates her excitement, causing her to strain towards him, wanting nothing more than his hands and lips on her body. She can feel her body tingling at his proximity, feel it's longing for his touch. She can hear him chuckle lowly in his throat at her physical response. "Say it."

"Fuck me." Deb moans and she can practically hear the smirk on his face.

"Not yet." He tells her smoothly as one hand slides over her breast, down her abdomen and between her legs. Deb groans again as his fingers skim over her, not quite making contact with the parts she most desires he touches. She's slick beneath his wandering hand and he pulls his hand back to examine the wetness left on his fingertips. He takes them to her lips, runs the moisture along her bottom lip and slips one finger in her mouth. She sucks at it greedily, needing some way to vent her frustration, hoping she can tempt him into giving her what she really wants.

He can barely stop himself from coming right there and pulls his fingers away from her lips so that he can finally kiss her. His tongue skims against her bottom lip to taste her before he slides it into her mouth. He takes his time kissing her, even as he feels her hips rotating against the bed, her body pulling forward to meet his as best it can against its bindings.

He pulls away from her finally, getting up from the bed and staring down at her again. Frustrated, Deb spits out "Fuck you."

Dexter chuckles again and he can see Deb's irritation increasing as she struggles once more against the ropes. "You'll pay for that." He promises as he slides around to the end of the bed and perches at the foot.

He leans down and kisses up the inside of her right thigh, pulling away before he reaches her hot center and doing the same to her left thigh. This time when he reaches her center he purses his lips and blows a stream of air against her. He can hear Deb give a choked groan in reply.

Dexter wraps his fingers around her hips then leans forward and places a kiss on top of her clit. Deb cries out, an unintelligible noise, as her chest rises and falls. Dexter leans forward again, this time running his tongue up the length of her and Deb responds with the same fervor, her head shaking as she cries out once more.

Dexter pulls back slightly and again blows a cooling gust of air against her heated center. Deb can take no more of his teasing. "Dex!" She calls him wildly.

"Mmm?" Dexter hums as he leans forward and kisses her center again. This time Deb nearly sobs.

"I-I…" Deb growls. "Fuck me!" She demands.

"Uh-uh." Dexter scolds quietly from between her legs. He runs his tongue in a circular motion around her clit and he can hear Deb whimper. "That's not how this works. _You're_ the one tied down, remember?"

"Arghhhhh" Deb half screams, feeling close to tears and nearly hysterical.

Unphased, Dexter skims his index finger over her clit and stops enticingly close to her entrance. "That doesn't sound like you're asking very nicely." He mocks her.

"Dex…" Deb hesitates, unable to bring herself to give in to him, to fully submit. Deb enjoys her control too, and giving up whatever last bit she still holds onto, even strapped nude to this bed, feels impossible.

"Debra." Dex replies cooly.

Deb takes a shaky breath in as Dexter kisses her inner thigh again, rubs his cheek against the sensitive skin. She can't remember ever being this wet and ready before, this desperate for her orgasm which seems just slightly out of reach.

His fingers circle around her outer lips and she hiccups. A tear slides from the corner of her eye and catches in her blindfold. Another follows quickly behind and she realizes she can't hold out any longer, that she is entirely at his mercy.

"Please." Deb whispers, the sound barely escaping her lips. She can feel Dexter pause his movements. In this stillness she can feel the tautness of her body, as if she has been strung too tightly and might just suddenly snap apart.

"What was that?" Dexter asks.

Deb emits a choked sob and raises her voice. "Pl-please…I can't-Fuck! I need to come!"

"That'll do." Dexter grins wickedly and brings himself forward.

He swirls his tongue around her sex then slides inside her, taking in her tangy sweetness. He enjoys the sounds she makes as he does this, the way she groans and says his name. He takes her clit in his mouth and sucks while he slips two fingers into her wetness, curling them around and finding that perfect spot.

It's more than enough for Deb, who has been teetering on the brink already. She screams as she hits her climax, coming hard and fast, her body tensing beneath Dexter's probing mouth and hands.

Dexter continues his ministrations as she comes and she orgasms a second time, even harder so that she blindly pulls at the confining rope without a thought to the way it rubs harshly against her skin. There are a thousand flashes behind her eyes and Deb can feel nothing but the sweet sensation quaking through her body.

He pulls away as her second orgasm is still pulsating and makes quick work of unbinding one ankle and then the other. Still lost in sensation, Deb doesn't register her freed legs. Blissfully adrift in her body's pleasure, she feels Dexter push the material away from her eyes and off her head.

"Deb" Dexter calls her, his voice soft and husky. He's rock hard now, throbbing with need for her. Her eyes are still closed and he runs his hand across her still wet center, enflaming her arousal once more.

"Open your eyes, Deb." He instructs her and she obeys, her eyes blinking open to look up at him. He grabs onto her hips and pulls her down the bed so that her arms stretch out above her then wraps her legs around his hips. He pushes slowly into her and groans lustfully. He stills and leans down, one hand sliding beneath her head and capturing her lips in a searing kiss.

He pulls back and begins to move, slowly at first, setting a pace as Deb stares up at him and moans. He slides his hands from her hips, up her rib cage until they cover her breasts. He strokes her as he continues to move, his fingers swirling around her nipples, causing her to moan louder "More!"

He can feel her tightening around him and picks up his pace. He leans towards her, changing the angle and thrusting harder until Deb is shouting out "Yes…yes".

He manages to hold out until she goes falling over the edge and follows close behind with her name tumbling from his lips.

Dexter collapses over her spent body. With a last bit of energy he reaches up and releases her wrists. She's limp underneath him and he rolls onto his back, pulling her body over his and bringing her hands down to his chest. He picks up one wrist to examine the red skin, then peppers it with kisses before running his thumb across he irritation soothingly.

He repeats the procedure with her other wrist and then glances down at her, takes note of her closed eyes and even breathing. He smiles softly to himself, presses a kiss to the top of her head and snuggles her close before drifting off to sleep.


	15. Nightly Rituals

**15\. Nightly Rituals**

Dexter has a new routine. When the moon is hanging low in the sky, full and glowing, it beckons him. He can feel the urge blossoming, like an evening primrose, drawing him into the night. He is grateful Jaime never objects, that Harrison is asleep by nine. The nighttime is his to prowl and lurk.

He chooses his black shirt, pulls his gloves on while he’s in the car. He drives to the same spot, night after night and waits. And every evening he follows the same car from the bungalow on the beach to one dive bar or another.

He doesn’t bother to go inside, but takes note of the clothing as Deb saunters in. Short shorts, a see through shirt, a come hither flip of her hip with a scowl on her face. She isn’t gone long; an hour at most, before she stumbles out, draped over some loser.

He follows at a distance, wondering if she is drunk enough that the car might crash or a cop might pull her over. He hates the idea, but wonders if it is what she needs in this moment; a desperate wake up call.

He can’t imagine sometimes that this has gone on for so long and he is the only one to know. The department is none the wiser. Only he knows the things she does, the creature she has become, the one he has made.

Dexter parks his car at the end of the block and watches her stumble out of hers and into her house, her latest buddy lighting up a joint as he strolls in after her. He waits only until the door is shut behind them before he gets out of his car. He makes his way towards the house, around to the back patio where he lurks unseen behind the tall bushes.

He watches through the leaves as Deb pulls the joint out of the man’s hand and takes a long drag while he paws her ass. Dexter frowns as Deb throws her head back and presses herself against her friend. He watches while she pulls off her shirt, unhooks her bra. She wraps her fingers around the man’s wrist and pulls him into her bedroom, the muscles in her back rolling seductively as she walks away.

Dexter pauses, considers once more bursting through her door, his fingers grasping the man’s head and twisting until he can hear the satisfying snap. Instead he rolls his shoulders, slips around the patio to the side of the house.

She never bothers to shut her curtains; there are no neighbors near enough to see anything anyways. Cheek pressed against the cool brick, Dexter glides closer to the full length window and carefully looks inside. Deb pushes the man down onto the bed and shimmies her jean shorts and thong off her long legs. From this perspective he can see her hand slide up her leg, across her taut stomach, up to her breast where she pulls at her nipple.

He responds as he always does, hardening as his gaze moves to her face, her eyes dilated and dark. The urge to touch himself is stronger than usual tonight. Most of the time he can shake it off; force himself to turn his back until the deed is done. But tonight he wants to see her.

His shirt snags slightly on the bricks as he leans closer, careful to stay next to the house where the security lights won’t trigger. His eyes stay focused on Deb, her hand wandering lower, her fingers slipping out of view.

He can hear the drunken mumblings of the man she’s with as he undresses, coaxes her closer. But his entire focus is on her, the way she saunters closer to the bed and slowly slides onto it.

Now on the bed, she swings a leg across and over the man, straddling him as she brings her body slowly onto his. Dexter watches as she slides onto his length, her hands pressing against his chest as her head lolls forward.

He doesn’t realize he is touching himself until he feels the cool ocean breeze against his cock, hardening further as the air strikes his skin. He strokes his hand over his length, takes note of how her hair swings around her.

Her hands leave the man, travel up her stomach, to her breasts. Dexter groans lowly in his throat as he watches her fingers twist her nipples. Her hands continue to her shoulders, up through her hair and her head rolls back. Her back arches, and he stares as her breasts bounce with her movements.

He can see the man’s fingers wrapped around her hips and imagines his hands there, the feel of her flesh and bones beneath his fingertips. Her voice is reaching his ears, her moans crescendoing in rhythm to the bed’s creaking.

He strokes harder, matches his movements against hers. And when she climaxes, her shout of satisfaction sends him over, his knees buckling as his cum falls onto the grass at his feet. In the heat of the moment he stumbles, his feet scrambling to keep him upright. He steps just a bit too far and suddenly he is standing in a pool of light.

Dexter pulls himself back against the house. But Deb’s head has come up sharply, her eyes trained on the window, the bright lights shining.

He can hear her date questioning where she is going and her curt _Fuck off_. He considers leaving before it is too late, but something keeps him there. Even tucked against the wall, he knows she will see him and he waits until she is standing, naked at the window.

She doesn’t look surprised. Not even embarrassed at her state of undress. Instead her eyes move over him, linger on his limp dick, still hanging out of his pants. He stares at her while she looks him over, waits until her gaze locks back on his. He doesn’t know what he expects from her, but all he gets is a cruel smirk before she closes the curtain with a yank.


	16. Attempt to Seek Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m finally back! I think there might actually be a couple of steady updates in the next few weeks – wish me luck with inspiration!  
> I can’t quite picture Dexter seeking out advice too often when it comes to Deb. At least from anyone who’s not Harry. But I think there would have been things he was told over the years. Things that would have stuck…  
> As always, thanks for reading and reviewing. I love that I’m not the only one still thinking about these two so long after the finale :p

**16\. Attempt to seek help (from friend or relative)**

“You’re too attached to her.”

Dexter frowns, glances up from his phone to find Hannah’s blue eyes staring back at him, full of disapproval.

“Huh?” He frowns further at his own idiotic response and attempts a recovery. “What are you talking about?”

“Debra.” Even her tone is laced with disdain, the name falling from her mouth like a curse. She gestures to his phone and the message he was reading. “I can tell that was from her. Your relationship…” Hannah shakes her head, not wanting to put the recurring thought into words. “Don’t you think she knows too much?”

He tilts his head at Hannah. “I didn’t want her to find out.”

“But now she does. She’s the lieutenant of homicide. How do you not see this as a problem?”

“She’s my sister.” Dexter tells her, an obvious answer which Hannah seems unable to grasp.

“Well can’t you see that she’s a problem for me?” Hannah challenges yet again.

“I already told you I would handle that.” Feeling frustrated Dexter turns away from her, grabbing his bag and heading for the door.

“Fine. If you’re not worried about me, aren’t you at least worried for her?”

Dexter stops dead and though he hasn’t turned around Hannah can see the tension in his shoulders and knows she has struck the nerve she wanted. “What you’re doing to her…aren’t you worried for her well being? Aren’t you concerned that you’re hurting her?” She moves closer as she says this, her voice dropping. “I know you care for her. I don’t think you want her hurt in your crossfire.” She touches his shoulder gently, turning him back to her.

He looks like a lost little boy, his mouth turned down, his eyes wide with worry. “I’ve already hurt her.” He admits softly, Hannah’s words voicing the very concerns he has had for so long now.

“Then shouldn’t you do something about it? Make sure she isn’t hurt more?” Hannah coaxes.

Dexter sighs, shakes his head. “I’ll figure out a way.”

“Maybe..” Hannah places her hands on his chest and gently continues “the only way is to let her go.”

Dexter turns an angry gaze towards her and pushes her hands aside. “I’ll find a way to keep her without letting her get hurt.” He turns abruptly away, heading out through the door.

Hannah stands at the doorway and calls after him. “Dexter…Let’s talk about this. Where are you going?”

“Deb needs me.” He answers simply as he gets in his car and drives away.

Hannah just sighs and heads back into her house.

* * *

 

“This desire to protect a younger sibling, being an older brother yourself I’m sure you understand.” Miguel nods at Dexter as the sun sets over Miami.

Dexter nods back. “Yeah, but most of the time I’ve found that Deb can take care of herself.”

Miguel chuckles at that. “Yes, I’ve heard about your sister.”

Dexter smiles. “She’s a good cop. She’s tough.” Dexter takes a deep breath. “Still there are things…well I wouldn’t want her to get hurt.”

“Yes, I can imagine in her line of work that would be a concern for you.” Miguel pauses a moment. “But of course, maybe you’re referring to something else?” He looks at Dexter meaningfully.

“She doesn’t know about those things.”

“Of course not. She’s a good cop. She’s got a strict set of rules she plays by. You don’t.” Miguel nods his understanding. “I get it hombre. If she knew-“

“She’s never going to know.” Dexter replies sternly.

Miguel holds his hands up. “Never. Man, you don’t need to worry about that with me.” Miguel slips into thought for a moment before turning back to Dexter. “But I understand you two are close.”

Dexter nods but doesn’t respond right away, his eyes drifting over the marina in front of them. “We’ve been together a long time.” Dexter answers quietly.

“Ya know…as good as you might be at keeping secrets, it’s hard with the people you’re close to. There may come a time when you can’t control what happens. When the people who are closest to you will see the truth.” Miguel pauses. “I’ve found that some distance helps. Keeps the people you care about from knowing too much.”

“Debra needs me.” Dexter answers simply.

Miguel turns his gaze towards the younger man. Even as Dexter’s eyes hover on the horizon Miguel can see the determination in them. While he thinks Dexter is a good man, so unlike his own brothers, he sees too that Debra Morgan is tied to this man. And just like his own brothers, Dexter is capable of dragging her down. 

* * *

 

“You haven’t saved her you know.” The voice startles him as he quietly stacks the dishes away into the cabinet. He nearly drops one, so unlike him to be caught off guard. But who could blame him when it’s the voice of his dead brother he hears?

Dexter doesn’t want to turn around. He doesn’t want to face the man behind him. The one he killed three nights ago. It doesn’t matter though. The voice is closer when it next speaks, right in his ear.

“You can’t ignore me dear brother. I have nowhere else to be. Thanks to you that is.” He can practically hear Brian’s smile.

Despite this Dexter continues about his business, deciding that ignoring this particular issue may allow it to go away sooner. As he turns towards the fridge he can see his older brother eyeing the bedroom door. “You know she doesn’t sleep, don’t you? She’s kicked you out of your bedroom and she’s not even putting your bed to good use.” Brian grins lasciviously. “Pity she’s not putting it to that other good use either. Your sister always knew how to fuck. If only she wasn’t so goddamn needy.”

Dexter scowls in response, still attempting to ignore the taunt. Finished in the kitchen he switches off the lights, turns towards the couch to find Brian lounged atop it. Dexter frowns further.

“You know it’s your fault, don’t you? That’s she’s not sleeping.” Brian crosses one leg over the other, tucks his hands behind his head, making himself comfortable.

Frustrated into response Dexter finally replies. “I’m pretty sure it’s your fault.” He mutters as he tidies the mess Deb has left behind in the living room.

“Ah! I knew you couldn’t go on ignoring me!” Brian sounds positively giddy and it only aggravates Dexter further. “But the truth is, it is definitely your fault. Why would I have bothered with _Debra_ if she wasn’t your _sister_?” He say disdainfully. “I needed you to know who you really were. Problem is, you’re still in denial.” Brian waits for Dexter to say something, but when he remains silent Brian continues. “Just wait. You’ve hurt her before this, you are hurting her now and you’ll hurt her again. Why can’t you just accept that you are the problem in this situation?”

Dexter closes his fist with fury. “I am not the problem.” He replies lowly.

“You should have stayed away from her Dex. You could have saved her a lot of pain.”

Dexter swings around angrily, ready to pounce and beat the offending words from his dead brother. But all he finds is an empty couch, the wounding words echoing in his ears.

* * *

 

Dexter leans over the edge of the boat, his arms dangling over, fingertips skimming the surface of the dark water. He watches as she fades away. Until he can’t make out the features of her face. Until he can’t see the whiteness of the sheet. He watches until she is gone forever, lost in the depths of the ocean. He thinks how he has finally put some distance, kept her away, let her go. He wishes now that he had listened before, done this sooner. Maybe he could have saved her.


	17. Physical Abuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is perhaps one of the darker chapters and I feel the need to warn all of you of that. Still, I hope it feels true to character and is still in some ways a good read.
> 
> Thanks as always for reading!

**17\. Physical Abuse**

She hates him so much sometimes she can’t breathe.

Her insides burn with it. The flames leap against her stomach lining, escape into her bloodstream until she can feel herself burning from within. She feels raw with her hate. And it’s all she can do to keep herself in check, to stop herself from lashing out.

She’s not always successful.

She may not be able to hurt him the way he has hurt her, but she gives it her best shot. She wants every mark he has created on her soul to be visible on his body.

Sometimes that means a bruise to his abdomen, delivered with a swift punch. Sometimes that’s scratches across his arms so his skin ripples up. Sometimes she needs a tool, something that will draw his blood out, pushing forth like some sort of payment for his sins.

She is pleasantly surprised by her violence, her ability to hurt him.

And he willingly takes it.

But that’s because he knows he deserves it. He knows he has earned every bit of pain she inflicts. Sometimes he looks stoic as she delivers his punishment. Often he looks sad. There is a pity in his eyes that makes her anger flare until she is half screaming, tears spilling unbidden from her eyes.

She hates him most then.

She tests the weight of the blade in her hand as she senses him looming nearby. He knows what she wants, he always does. And here he waits so she can hurt him, instead of herself.

She doesn’t give him any warning, turns towards him and runs the sharp end down the inside of his bicep, just high enough so it won’t be seen at work tomorrow. He hisses as she watches the blood pool at the edges of his broken skin.

She wouldn’t say she is blood thirsty, but this penance from him is satisfying. And she wants more.

She draws another line down his sternum, watches as the blood begins to drip down his skin. She wants to cut deeper, ensure there will be a permanent scar to match the invisible ones she has. But she won’t be the monster that he is.

Her hand hovers near his ribcage, gripping the blade so her knuckles shake. She feels him wrap his fingers around her wrist and she looks up at him uncertainly. He has never objected, never so much as questioned this activity, so this response in unexpected.

Her fingers loosen over the blade and he slips it away from her, tossing it to the side. He pulls her closer so he can lean his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry Deb.”

It’s the first time he has said it out loud. Though the guilt has been written all over him, this is the first he has admitted to it. For the longest time it was all that she wanted; for him to acknowledge his role in it, his blame. But now that it’s said she realizes how useless it is, how much she still hates him.

Her lungs seize up, as if someone has wrapped a vice around her chest. She can feel her hate for him taking over her entire being. It’s crawling on her skin, screaming in her ears. Her heart pounds with hatred, thumping harshly under her breast.

With a wild scream she pushes him away. He falls to the ground and she stumbles along with him so she lands on his chest. Her fists fly around her, pounding into his flesh. She’s lost all her senses as she wails on him, crying and screaming, the wordless sounds filling the room around them.

He doesn’t fight back then either, lying still as her beating rains down. He doesn’t move until she’s exhausted herself, her voice hoarse and quieting. She falls onto him, her tears wetting his bare chest, her body hiccupping against his. He finally moves, wraps his arms around her and presses his nose into her hair.

“I know bad things have happened. I know there are things you regret. But there are things I regret too.” He tells her softly. “If I could go back and change it I would. If I could do anything that would take your pain away, you just have to tell me.”

He feels her sigh against him. “You’ll never get it will you? You will never be able to fucking fix this. You will always be the cause of my pain.” She pushes away from him and he watches from the floor as she takes a beer out of her fridge, grabs her pack of cigarettes and the lighter.

She stands over him as she drinks from the bottle then settles back on top of him, straddling his waist. He watches her put the bottle down, pull out a cigarette and light it up.  His eyes follow the flicker of flame until she snaps the lighter closed and draws a deep breath of smoke into her lungs. She exhales slowly, calming her nerves as the smoke swirls away from her.

She doesn’t even think about it when she brings the lit end down to his abdomen, allows it to skim along his flesh. He hisses looks up at her pathetically. She rolls her eyes at him. “You’re not even going to fight me? When I’m burning your fucking flesh?” She taunts him. When he doesn’t respond she snickers “Well, this is what you deserve, isn’t it?”

“And what do you deserve Deb?” He questions her softly.

“You know exactly what I deserve.” She looks at him fiercely, dares him to contradict her.

“Deb…” He replies warily, afraid of where this conversation heads.

“I told you, didn’t I?” The hard look in her eye tells him she means it. “I’ve taken a life. Someone who was innocent. I killed her for all the wrong reasons. So you know where I belong, don’t you?”

“You don’t!” He replies adamantly, sitting up and grabbing onto her shoulders. “What you did-“

“What I did was murder someone!” Deb shouts at him, pushes him back down to the floor again. She pants, looking down on him, anger and regret glistening in her eyes. “So what’s it going to be Dexter? Are you going to give me what I really want, or shall we continue?”

Dexter doesn’t even pause. He grabs her hand, bringing the burning cigarette back to his flesh and groans lowly. Deb smirks at him. “I think I need that blade.”


	18. Patching Up Wounds

She tries not to flinch when he lifts his shirt and shows her the source of the blood.

“You call that a fucking scratch?” Deb asks him angrily. She stamps down the fear that is threatening to bring tears to her eyes.

“I’m fine Deb.” Dexter tries to assure her, even as he groans, trying to pull his shirt back down.

“Fucktard.” Deb sounds more exasperated than anything else as she yanks on his arm and drags him over to the kitchen.

“Ow!” Dexter whines.

“Oh yeah, you’re totally fine. Fucking wimp.”

She gestures for him to take off his shirt as she pulls the first aid kit out and then tries not to stare at the contours of his pectorals, the shape of his arms. She wets a towel and wipes it gently around the open wound with shaking fingers. He grabs onto her trembling wrist and holds it still until she looks up and catches his gaze.

“I’m ok.” He wants to comfort her, reassure her. His first kill after she acquiesced, decided that she couldn’t change who he was, and this is what happens. And he can see it on her face, the worry, the unhappiness. It is proof, at least to her, that she was right. That there are so many reasons he should not be what he is.

She’s still staring at him, and there’s that warm feeling spreading across her chest, sliding up her neck and into her face. She glances away quickly, pulling her hand out of his grasp and clearing her throat. “You’re not ok, Dexter. You’re fucking bleeding all over my kitchen.” She mutters as she pulls out the anti-bacterial and generously wipes it across the raw flesh.

“Ugh.” Dexter grunts and looks down at her annoyed.

“Yeah, fucking fine, aren’t ya?”

He remains silent as she tapes the gauze over the wound, her fingertips now gently sliding against his skin. When she’s done, she pauses, finally looks back up at him. “Does this happen a lot?”

He shrugs in his usual nonchalant manner and Deb has the urge to punch the gauze covered portion of his torso. She rolls her eyes instead, puts the supplies back into the first aid box forcefully.

He senses her irritation and struggles for a way to ease her mind. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ve been doing this a long time.”

Deb scoffs harshly, “Yeah, I had nearly forgotten you’re a fucking expert.” She shakes her head as she closes the kit, her gaze turning to look out the window. “I don’t know why I expect you to understand. You’re a fucking serial killer; you couldn’t possibly know how I feel.” She turns to look at him, her eyes narrowed, her mouth turning down. “Do you get that I’m fucking scared for you?”

“I’m telling you that you don’t have to be.” Dexter tells her on the verge of exasperation.

“And you’re telling me this when I’ve just finished taping you up. You can fucking understand why I don’t believe you.” Deb scoffs, places her hands on the edge of the sink and shakes her head. She looks back out the window and tries to hold it together. “You’re all I fucking have. It’s bad enough you’re a goddamn serial killer, but I swear to fuck if you die on me..?” She can feel herself shaking now and can’t finish the thought, unable to meet his eye.

Dexter turns towards her, places his hands on her shoulders reassuringly. “I told you I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. And if that means I have to come back in one piece, then that’s what I’ll do.”

He feels her taking a steadying breath under his grip while her gaze focuses somewhere over his shoulder. She shrugs away from him finally and shakes her head. “Thing is Dex, you’re always going to do what’s best for you.”

He frowns at this unexpected revelation and watches as she puts away the first aid kit. “What do you mean?” He finally asks uncertainly.

She is turned away from him and he can see her drop her head back, roll her shoulders, as if she is preparing for a fight or bracing for an impact. “I mean that I will always put you first and you….won’t do the same.”

It hurts him in a surprising way. He hadn’t anticipated the train of thought, the simplicity of the observation. Most of all, he hadn’t realized how true it was until this very moment. He feels sorry for her which is perhaps most surprising of all.

She turns back towards him and sees the pity and it makes her seethe. If she could find a way to rid him from her life, extract his very essence from her every thought, she would. But she knows this is a futile wish. Even if she was able to achieve this, she would miss him. It only makes her angrier. “You shouldn’t come here after. I don’t need to know what you’ve done.” Her voice is raw, oscillating somewhere between tears and rage.

He looks away from her, unable to meet her eye. The disappointment in her face has been evident these past weeks, but tonight there is a feeling in the pit of his stomach caused by that look. He thinks this must be shame. He doesn’t apologize, doesn’t promise to change. What would be the point? Instead he nods, “You’re right. It’s part of why I kept things from you. I didn’t want to upset you.”

Deb scoffs, presses her palm against her forehead. “I’m so fucking done with this.” She turns away, enters her bedroom and shuts the door behind her. Dexter wants to go after her, find a way to make things right. But that doesn’t exist. He sighs heavily instead, pulls his shirt back on and heads home.


	19. Displaying Co-Dependency

Harry stands uncomfortably in the dark living room. The TV plays some third rate slasher film, blood spurting like a geyser out of the current victim. The dinner dishes still sit on the coffee table, the tomato sauce drying on the plates. But what makes Harry uncomfortable in this current tableau is the site of Dexter’s arm around Debra’s shoulder, Debra leaning against Dexter, both fast asleep.

Harry grimaces, rubs his palm against his forehead and sighs. Their surprising closeness he once condoned and even encouraged now gave him pause. Despite his warnings to Dexter to keep a certain distance from Debra, to hide the most dangerous parts of himself from her, their bond was undeniable.

But there was more to it than that. There was something that distressed him in a different way. They weren’t quite children anymore and there were moments where they didn’t quite act like siblings. He didn’t like to think about it too much, but sometimes he couldn’t help but wonder exactly what kind of bond they were forging.

While there was the part of him that wanted desperately to protect Dexter, to try and direct his urges in a productive way and still keep him safe, more and more he was finding his concern growing in other directions. He worried about Debra and how things might turn out for her. He wanted badly for Debra to be Dexter’s guide to humanity, his connection to the outside world. But he understood that this may be asking a lot of her, especially when there were so many things she was unaware of, things that could cause her pain and heartache.

And now with her growing into a young woman with no mother to guide her, Harry felt helpless to support her, utterly clueless about what she needed. Meanwhile Dexter needed him in a way he could comprehend, in a way that he could actually help, and it seemed so much simpler to focus on his adoptive son. After all, if he did that job right he could turn a predator of innocents into a hunter of deviants. He could make a difference to so much more than his own children if he handled things the right way now. Even if that meant his daughter would suffer, he could only hope she was strong enough to deal with it.

Harry turns his back on his sleeping children and flips on the living room lights. The brightness in the room elicits a groan from Deb who rubs her eyes and sits up. Next to her Dexter blinks quickly and brings his hands back to his lap.

“Dad?” Deb mumbles. “What time is it?”

“Late.” Harry switches off the TV. “Go to bed Debra.”

Deb frowns at him uncertainly. He only ever uses both syllables of her name when he’s upset and she can’t figure out what could be pissing him off now. “I’ll do the dishes.” Deb volunteers quietly, an offer she rarely makes and nothing more than a desire to appease her father.

“JUST…” Harry raises his voice abruptly before forcing himself to stop, squeeze his eyes shut and take a forcibly calming breath. “Just go to bed. Dexter will do it.”

Of course this succeeds in pissing Debra off and she frowns further. “Fine.” Deb huffs as she stomps out of the living room and up the stairs.

Harry waits until he hears her door slam shut and watches as Dexter picks the plates up and walks into the kitchen. He follows closely behind his son and when Dexter turns on the tap he steps behind him and shuts the water off. Dexter turns sideways and looks up at Harry confused.

“What are you doing?” Harry’s voice is stern and Dexter glances down at the dishes in the sink.

“I was going to wash them-” Dexter attempts.

“What are you doing with Debra?” Harry’s voice has taken on an edge that Dexter hasn’t heard before. He looks back at his father with his usual calm. It is enough to make Harry snap. He grabs the boy by his throat and swivels, slamming Dexter back against the fridge. He presses hard against Dexter’s windpipe until he is sputtering, his hands clawing against the grip.

“What are you doing with _my daughter_?” Harry repeats more dangerously than before.

He continues to push against Dexter’s throat until he can see that it’s almost too much. Then he finally manages to let go, pulling back suddenly so that Dexter crumbles to the ground coughing and wheezing. Harry leaves him there coldly, taking a seat at the kitchen table, the room lit only by the dim bulb over the sink.

They sit in silence for a time, Harry stewing at the kitchen table while Dexter watches him bewildered from his spot on the floor. Harry knows that Dexter doesn’t understand, can’t possibly comprehend his worries. In some ways he sympathizes with the boy. He is in an impossible position with no internal compass to guide him. He actually pities Dexter for the world that he will never be part of – not really anyways.

Harry stares down at his hands as he begins to speak. “You’re becoming a young man Dexter. A young man with unusual tendencies.”

Dexter sits still and watches his adoptive father intently. He trusts Harry to know what is right and whatever had him so upset at the moment must be important.

“I’ve told you to protect Debra before. I’ve told you to protect her from yourself.” Harry grinds out the last word between gritted teeth.

Dexter frowns, “I have. I haven’t told her anything. I promise.”

With Harry’s gaze still fixed on his gripping hands, Dexter’s voice sounds childish. Soon enough he wouldn’t be a child and everything that already felt so complicated would only get worse.

“It’s more than that Dexter.” Harry pauses, decides to ask the question he has avoided for so long. “What do you think of Debra?” His voice is soft and gruff and Dexter tilts his head at his father uncertainly.

After a long pause Harry looks towards Dexter, still sitting with his back against the fridge. “What is Debra to you?”

“My sister.” Dexter answers simply.

“What else?” When Dexter squints up at him again Harry loses what’s left of his calm. He slams his palm against the table. “What do you want from her?!” Harry bellows.

“Nothing.” Dexter insists.

Harry gets up from the table and looms menacingly over Dexter. “What do you feel when you look at her?” His voice has dropped back to a normal level but the edge of anger remains.

“I don’t…” Dexter looks up at Harry at a loss. The older man clearly wants something but Dexter just can’t understand what.

Harry turns away, running his hand through his hair. He stands at the sink and looks over the backyard. Sometimes he thinks he should give up on the kid. Turn him over to an institution. Let them figure out what to do with him. Because sometimes he realizes he’s in too deep and they will all pay for his sins.

“I’m risking everything here Dexter. Everything so that you have a chance. Everything so that you’re not locked away and forgotten. But for all that I’m doing, none of it will matter if people get hurt. And the one most likely to get hurt is Debra. You can’t let that happen. Do you understand?”

Dexter gets slowly to his feet. “I won’t.”

Harry turns on him suddenly and Dexter stumbles back, tripping over his feet. Before he can fall he feels Harry’s strong grip around his arms, pulling him upright. “Promise me.” Harry intones fiercely. “Promise now that Debra will never be hurt by you. That you’ll never mistreat her. That you’ll be a good brother. That you won’t-“ Harry still can’t voice what he really wants to say. “That you won’t let her too close but you won’t abandon her either.” He looks closely into Dexter’s eyes, hoping for a hint of emotion. “One day you may be all she has. You can’t fuck this up boy.”

“I-I promise.” Dexter rushes to say.

Harry lets go just as suddenly as he grabbed onto Dexter, who now struggles to regain his balance. “She loves you Dexter, you know that. You can’t…take advantage of that any more than you already are.” Harry gives him a long hard look.

Dexter hears the words but thinks there is more to it, something Harry cannot say. And Dexter doesn’t know how to ask. He nods in agreement instead. He wants to listen to Harry because he respects this man that took him in, that is helping him become something. And he has no desire to see Deb get hurt; by himself or anyone else.

“I’m trusting you Dexter.” Harry walks past him out of the kitchen, the conversation at a close.

Dexter still feels confused because he can’t see any reason why Deb would get hurt. He’s done as he’s been asked; kept his secrets close, kept Deb away from his darkness. And he would continue to do just that. Deb deserved to be happy, deserved to not get tangled in his lies.

“Dex?” He turns to find Deb. “What’s going on with Dad?” The softness of her voice betrays her hurt.

“Uh…he was just mad we hadn’t gone to bed. I’ll clean up. You go sleep.” He turns towards the sink and feels Deb step closer, wrap her arms around him from behind.

They stay still, wrapped together for several minutes before Deb lets go and leaves without a word. Dexter stays in the spot for a while longer. He won’t let anything happen to Deb, because he simply can’t lose her.


	20. Expressing Guilt or Remorse (Fake or Genuine)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just playing a little catch up so that this matches FF.net. I'm hoping to get another chapter up in the next week or so and hopefully not have such horribly long delays anymore :) But I do swear that I will finish this!
> 
> Anyways, you could set this one anywhere between the end of season 5 and the middle of season 6...kind of took a strange turn that I didn't quite expect, but hopefully you still enjoy!

Dexter shifts uncomfortably against the cold metal chair. He stares over at Deb’s profile, notices the ashen tone of her complexion. She nearly matches the cinderblocks of the wall behind her as she stares unseeing away from him. He doesn’t know what to say so he waits for her. Apparently she’s not sure what to say either because all she’s done since she walked into the room 10 minutes ago was to stand in the same spot, back turned to Dexter, fingers encircling the thick, white bars in front of her.

He thinks one of them should apologize, but he’s not quite sure which one. So instead he continues to wait, continues to watch her. He fidgets slightly, the metal bracelets around his wrists scrape the table sharply and it grabs Deb’s attention. He can see her straighten, see the tension heighten in her shoulders. She lets out a gust of air and turns towards him. Seeing her head on he thinks she might be sick, or perhaps she will be burst into tears. But instead her gaze hardens on him and he can see his vulnerable sister replaced by the tough as nails detective that any perp should fear; perhaps Dexter more than any other.

“Why?” She cocks her head to the side and stares him down and he finds himself almost afraid to answer.

Dexter opens his mouth then closes it. He tries again but finds the words stuck in the back of his throat. He looks away from her, stares down at his hands, the shackles around his wrists. He hears her walk closer, sees her hands placed on the table before him as she leans forward.

“I need you to fucking tell me why.” Deb grinds out, her voice low and threatening.

“You know why.” Dexter continues to stare at the light bouncing off his handcuffs. “You know the story of Laura Moser.”

Deb slams her fist against the table in front of him. If he were a normal person it would have startled him. “That’s not a FUCKING ANSWER!” Deb screams at him.

Dexter looks up at his sister, her eyes wild and desperate. “We’ve been over this Deb. I told you everything there is.” He pauses for a moment and looks at her sadly. “I told you about Laura and Dad and my Dark Passenger. I told you everything when I tried to talk you out of bringing me here.”

“Fuck you. Don’t fucking blame this on me.” She gestures to the holding cell they are together in. “Exactly what choice did I have Dexter. Was I supposed to let you keep murdering people?”

Her use of his full name indicates just how bad this all is. He thinks he can handle her exposing his life more than he can handle her hating him. His mind flits to Harrison and it’s too much to worry on at the moment. He brings his attention back to her and wonders what the point of this conversation is exactly. He can’t save himself. Not when she has brought him here, turned over his blood slides, the evidence linking him to the Mitchell family. It’s done now and he knows it.

He wants to ask her how she managed to put it together. What was it that allowed her to open her eyes to the truth? But looking at her he knows it’s not a good time. Perhaps it never will be.

She’s still staring him down and he thinks there’s only one thing left to tell her. “I’m sorry.” His tone is quiet, remorseful and he watches the anger ooze out of her, leaving her wilted and dejected.

He watches her eyes well, but she fights away the tears and sits down across from him instead. She puts her head into her hands and Dexter watches as she struggles to keep her emotions in check.

“I’m sorry I’ve put you in this position.” He offers again. She drops her hands in return and moves her vacant gaze towards him. He’s never seen her look so lost and the fact that it is his fault does something to his gut, a strange sinking feeling like he’s stepped off the edge of a precipice.

“What am I supposed to do?” She asks him raggedly. “How do I face them?” Her gaze flits past the bars indicating the others waiting just outside. “What happens to Harrison?” She pauses, her eyes slide closed for a moment longer than a breath and when she looks at him again she seems to have suddenly aged, darkness circling her eyes. “What happens to me?” She whispers, the desolation ringing in the sound.

He almost wants to be angry at her because even in his wildest nightmares he never thought she was capable of this. Despite his unlimited faith in her abilities as a cop, he never thought she could see what was in right front of her; she was just too close. And he had relied on that for years, had absolute conviction that as long as he listened to Harry’s advice to hide himself away from her, she would never be able to discern the lie.

And yet, maybe it is exactly for this reason that there is a swell of pride in his chest. This odd gratitude that if anyone were to figure him out, to turn him in, that it would be her. And maybe that’s what brings the next words from his lips unbidden.

“You’ll be better off. Harrison too. Maybe you could all have been better off from the start if it hadn’t been for me. You did the right thing, Deb.”

Deb’s tears brim and finally spill over. Her voice trembles when she speak. “I trusted you. I loved you.”

He can’t handle the disappointment in her eyes, the resignation in her voice. Perhaps worst, the declaration of love in the past tense. His eyes fall to his hands as he furrows his brow. He can envision what happens next; the trial, the conviction, the needle in his arm. But he thinks this is mercy because he doesn’t know how to survive a world where Deb no longer cares for him.

“I’m so sorry, Deb.” This time he means it.


	21. Use of a Safeword

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I can’t quite picture Deb and Dex being thoughtful enough to determine a safeword and put it into use. Because of that I went in a slightly different direction with this. It’s a little scary and more than a little non-consensual, but to me that’s also what keeps it in character. Anyways, as with other chapters, just a gentle warning that this crosses some lines, so proceed with caution!
> 
> For those of you comfortable and willing to go there with me, I do love you for it :)

Dex drops his forehead against the crook of her neck, her skin sticky against his. His fingers stretch out, slide further around her ass as she moves against him.

“Fuck.” Deb whispers, her hand moving up the back of his neck, her fingernails sharp against his scalp.

She’s warm and tight and he groans as her back arches, as she throws her head back. He takes the opportunity, leans down and bites her nipple a little too hard. She yelps, pulls on his head and rides him harder.

He can feel her tightening, squeezing around him and he grits his teeth as she rides out her orgasm, their bodies pressed together. Somehow he makes it through and he can feel his cock throbbing with unreleased energy.

She’s limp in his arms, still moaning incoherently. He picks her up off of him easily, flips her around so she collapses onto the bed, her knees underneath, her body flattened on the sheets.

He stares down at her nude form, the globes of her ass beckoning to him. He has this desire tonight to be rough; slam into her over and over, to worry only about what he wants. He wraps his hands around her hips, pulls her bottom half up and stares down at her.

He wants something different tonight. He slides his fingers into her warm wetness and she sighs, placated. He pulls them away, moves his soaked fingers over and teases her other entrance. Deb mumbles something which Dexter ignores, pushing one finger into her ass.

The movement startles her, and she picks her head up, turns back to look at him. Deb recognizes the darkness she sees in his face. “Dex.” Her voice hitches in her throat as he continues to slide a single finger in and out of her.

“Dex, stop.” Deb tells him shakily. He ignores her, pushes a second finger inside of her.

It’s uncomfortably tight, stretching her open. She digs her fingers into the sheets, it’s been a long time since she’s done this, and she’s not sure she trusts him. “Dex.” She tries again as she attempts to scoot away from him. He continues to ignore her, digs his fingers into her hip to hold her in place.

She swallows the dread building at the base of her throat. She tells her herself she isn’t scared of him, that even if she doesn’t quite trust him, she knows he would never hurt her. But in these moments it’s difficult to remember why she believes that.

With two fingers still in her ass, his thumb slides back over her pooled wetness. Still sensitized, she whimpers as he adds the collected moisture to the fingers still moving in her ass. She can feel her muscles loosening, despite her protests and worries. Still she isn’t quite ready when Dexter slides his cock between her legs once more, then presses the tip of it against her ass.

“Dexter!” She scolds him this time, tries for a harsh tone. But she can see his focus is elsewhere as he holds her hips tightly and slowly forces himself inside of her. She grunts, not ready to accommodate him, and grabs onto the end of the mattress. She yells again as he continues to push into her, until he is buried within her.

It’s not terribly painful, but certainly more than uncomfortable and she holds desperately still, afraid the wrong move will only result in her pain.

“Dexter, what the fuck?!” She’s breathless and what she intends as a reprimand falls from her trembling lips in a half sigh, wanton, desperate and fearful.

His only response is to reach around, his fingertips finding her clit and stroking until she sighs and starts to relax around him. He continues to caress her as he begins to move, slowly pulling out of her and once again back in. This time she doesn’t object, just groans, her arousal growing deep in her belly.

Deb focuses on the circular motion of his fingers against her clit instead of the fact that there’s not enough lube. Instead of the fact that she said ‘no’.

She forces herself to relax, decides not to fight back. She’s smart enough to know when she can’t take him. Knows him well enough to see when he’s too far gone.

When his fingertips leave her clit she reaches back, takes the wetness and brushes it onto his moving cock. It helps enough that when he picks up the pace there is little pain. She displaces whatever ache remains with her own fingers against her clit. But the truth is she’s too nervous to derive any real pleasure.

He moves against her harder and it’s all she can do to stay relaxed, to not tighten against him. She tries not to think about the pain tomorrow will bring. His hands squeeze her hips harder before the groan emanates from the back of his throat. He’s spilling inside of her, and she finally feels like she can breathe, the trepidation easing away from her body.

Her knees give way beneath her and Dexter follows, his body covering hers, his hands still gripping her hips. She feels him sigh with satisfaction, his breath hot on her neck, before he pulls away. The mattress bends at her side where he lands as she stares unseeing at the wall.

She can feel him watching the back of her head and she slowly inhales and waits. She can sense him turn towards her, his hand placed tentatively on her shoulder blade. She doesn’t say a word, move a millimeter, doesn’t dare engage with him.

After a moment he pulls back and she feels a blanket fall across her bare body, fending off the chill of the cool air against her sweat slicked skin. A few minutes later his breath has evened out. She continues to stare through the dark night at the wall as a single tear escapes her eye unbidden. It slides over the bridge of her nose and drops softly to the bedding underneath her.

_He’ll never hurt me_ , she reminds herself.


	22. Acting Normal

**Prompt: Acting normal for a third party**

She’s not sure if she can breathe. The panic is setting in, her lungs are seizing, her stomach roils. She might be sick on this very spot and she hasn’t even crossed the yellow police tape yet.

“Deb, we have to go.” Dexter urges. His grip tightens on her elbow as he attempts to pull her forward. “Deb.” He says again, and this time she moves, ducks under the tape and walks forward in a daze.

“Good.” Dexter tells her as they move through the milling crowd of police officers, detectives and lab rats. “Just like we talked about. Fifteen minutes and you can leave.” She can barely register what he is saying. She’s too busy trying to stop herself from breaking down, dropping to her knees and crying out her guilt.

They are still 20 yards from the dreaded shipping container when she stops dead in her tracks. Dexter stops with her too, his eyes following her gaze until he sees what gave her pause: Angel. He sees them too and the sight of people he trusts, the ones he can lean on, causes him to suddenly break down.

“Deb, Dex” He calls over the crowd to them and then moves clumsily between the bodies until they are face to face and Debra has nowhere to go. He pulls her into a hug and sobs onto her shoulder. “He killed her! That fucking bastard killed Maria!”

Deb can sense Dexter relaxing, knowing that the story they carefully setup last night is already working. But all she really cares about is that the man that is like a brother to her, that is a better brother than Dexter could ever be, is clinging to her in despair. This was already harder than she could have imagined, already more impossible than she thought it would be.

As Angel continues to cry she knows there is only one way to fix it. Angel pulls back finally and looks from Deb to Dex, “I just can’t believe it’s come to this. I can’t believe she’s gone.”

Deb can’t hold it in any longer. “Angel, I’m sorry. I-“

“We’re really sorry. Maria was a good cop.” Dexter interjects before Deb can say anymore. He grabs onto her elbow again. “We should really go and wrap this up. They’re waiting on us.”

“Yes, please. Let’s get this closed fast for Maria’s sake.” Angel nods as he rubs his palms against his wet cheeks. “Thanks for being there.” He nods at them both and gives Deb’s hand a squeeze before walking away.

Dexter quickly pulls her forward again as he leans in. “What are you doing?” He chastises. “You heard him. They already believe the arrangement, we just have to wrap this up and we’re done.”

Deb finally turns and looks at him. “Fuck you.” She yanks her arm away and moves forward ahead of him, determinedly entering the shipping container.

The metallic smell of blood hits her squarely as she walks in, stronger now that the shipping container has sat under the hot Miami sun. She gags on the stench as it hits the back of her throat and rolls down her tongue.

“You ok, LT?” Masuka’s voice is unusually somber and he hands her a mask which does little to block the smell. He nods at Dexter as he follows her in then turns his sad gaze back to Deb. “Seems pretty straightforward, but Dex will be able to tell us for sure.”

Deb summons her courage and looks past Masuka, to the lamp-lit depths of the container and the blood stained sheet covering Maria’s body. One hand lays exposed, the blood congealed around it and Deb stares at the gaudy bracelet around the limp wrist and thinks of the time LaGuerta put that damn necklace on her. She blinks back tears and averts her gaze as Dexter pulls the sheet away to inspect the body.

“It’s ok to wait outside.” Masuka gently suggests as he awkwardly pats her arm. “This isn’t easy for any of us.” Her eyes catch Dexter’s and she thinks how wrong Masuka is before she nods, mumbles her thanks and walks back into the fresh air and sunlight.

But there’s no reprieve to have even away from the darkness and death. It seems like all eyes are on her as she moves quickly away from the container, ducking behind another one so she can find a moment of peace. She can still feel the tears welling behind her eyes, the lump in her throat that she can’t swallow down.

She’s done it now; she’s no better than he is. Truth be told, she had seen this moment coming. And he had tried to warn her, hadn’t he? To leave things alone, to let him handle it. Why hadn’t she listened then? And now it was too fucking late. What had she done?

“Deb?”

She nearly jumps out of her skin, spinning to face Dexter, “FUCK!” Deb bends over, pushes the heels of her hands into her forehead and grunts. She stands straight again and looks at her brother angrily, “Don’t fucking do that shit. Fucking sneaking up on me.”

Dexter sighs, “Deb, you need to calm down-“

“Calm down!?! Are you fucking kidding me?! After what happened-“

“Deb! Jesus…there are people everywhere.” Dexter hushes.

Deb emits a barking sort of laugh that sounds more like a sob, her eyes tearing up as she shakes her head. “I can’t. I just can’t fucking do this.”

Dexter sighs again, but before he can attempt to reassure her they are interrupted.

“LT?” Masuka appears seemingly out of nowhere; emerging from the other side of the container they stand behind.

“Fuck!” Deb turns away frustrated and barely hanging on to her tentative agreement with Dexter to not confess. She spits out “What?”

“They’re looking for you. The uh….higher ups…They want you to make the statement.” His news is met with a tense silence before Dexter turns towards him with a nod.

“She just needs a minute. Tell them she’s coming.” Masuka nods in agreement, going back the way he came, leaving the Morgans alone once more.

“Why don’t you fucking go and make the goddamn statement?” Deb asks with a gravelly voice. “I can’t do this shit Dex.” He can clearly hear the pain in her voice and steps behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders and pressing his lips against her hair.

He leans his forehead against her head and whispers in her ear. “We’re almost there Deb. Just a little bit more. Then we can put this behind us.” He can feel her droop under his grasp, as if he has pressed a button to deflate her tension. “Just say what we practiced. Slowly and calmly. Then we can go home.” He pulls her body back against his and places a kiss against her temple, one of his arms wrapping around her waist. “I’ll be right there with you.” He reassures her.

Deb turns back towards him, her lips finding his, her arms settling around his shoulders. It can’t last long with the noise of their co-workers mere yards away. She pulls away regretfully and takes a deep breath. The lump is still in her throat, the tears ready to spill forth. But she feels stronger than she should in this moment. She feels ready to go out there and lie, if not for herself then at least for him.

They share only a long gaze before she walks purposefully back towards the crowd, Dexter just behind her. Deb shakes hands with the brass, walks with them to the bank of cameras and scrambling reporters. When she steps in front of the microphone she says exactly what Dexter had told her the night before as they lay in the darkness wrapped around each other. And after she’s done, when the acting Chief claps her on the back and tells her she’ll make a damn good captain very soon she manages a stoic smile and nod.

She walks away from the crowd, back under the police tape, away from the scene of her crime. When they soon give her the new badge, the bigger office, she’ll think of how she killed her captain to get there.

She climbs back into Dexter’s Jeep as he jumps in behind the wheel. Deb stares back towards the chaos they’ve just left, her eyes following the gurney with the black body bag as it leaves the shipping container. She knows she will never again be the same person. She has irrevocably changed the very core of her being. The knowledge sits heavily on her and she wonders for the hundredth time since that night how she will survive it.

But then she feels Dexter’s fingers slide under her palm as it rests on the seat by her thigh. He gives her hand a gentle squeeze and she turns towards him. “The worst is over.” He tells her. “Things will be different now. But we have each other.”

“Just like always.” She quietly replies.

He responds by bringing her hand to his lips and gently kissing it. And in that moment she knows. No matter how much she might regret what she has done, no matter the pain the she feels at the mere thought, if she could go back right now and do it over again she would make the same choice. So there is no turning back, no going back to being the good cop, the good person.

She belongs to him now completely.


	23. A "Good" Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've been reading this series, then you know this isn't going to be fluff. But it's probably the closest I'll come to it!

Deb wakes with the sun on her face, peeking through the partially closed blinds. She doesn't open her eyes right away, but adjusts to where she is; the sound of the ocean in the distance, the feel of her naked body tangled between cool sheets, the weight of Dexter's hand on the small of her back.

There's a warm feeling stirring inside of her. She thinks it must be what contentment feels like.

"Hey." She hears Dexter's sleepy voice behind her as he slides his hand around to her hip and pulls her closer. He rubs his stubbly chin against her shoulder blade and presses his stiff cock against her thigh. Effortlessly he flips her over, bringing her onto her back and underneath him. He gives her a wicked if still drowsy grin before he starts a trail of kisses from her neck to her navel. His fingers find their way between her legs, stirring her desire and making her ready.

Without further preamble he slides into her, starting an unhurried and sensuous pace that has her wrapping her legs around him and moaning his name. When he brings her to climax she cries out and he follows shortly behind, her name on his lips. He rolls them over, bringing her to lie on his chest before kissing the top of her head.

"Pancakes?" Dexter asks as he wraps a piece of her hair between his fingers. Deb can just barely manage an agreeing sigh "Hmmm."

He rolls her back into bed and kisses her forehead before jumping out. She watches him find his pajama pants from the strewn clothing on the floor and pull them on before he leaves the bedroom.

Deb takes her time, languidly sitting up in bed to stare out the window of Dexter's bedroom to find the blue waves and the bright sunlight. A lazy Sunday morning is just what she needs. She takes a stretch and finds her discarded clothes before exiting the bedroom.

Deb cuts through the door to Harrison's side of the apartment, spotting the little boy's tousled hair in front of the tv, his eyes glued to Sponge Bob. "Your dad's making pancakes" She interrupts and he swivels and gives her a brilliant smile before bouncing up and towards her.

Harrison stops dead in front of her and looks up at her happily. "I like when you sleepover Aunt Deb!"

She squats down in front of him, "I like it too cause then I get to see you!" The pang of guilt hits her unbidden and she pushes it aside as she wraps the kid in her arms and hauls him into the kitchen. He giggles in return as she places him down and Dexter hands him a plate stacked high and drowned in syrup.

Her phone rings as they are devouring their breakfast, Angel's voice at the other end telling her they are needed. She hangs up and frowns, so much for their lazy day. "We have to stop by a crime scene." She says quietly to Dexter, her eyes slide over to Harrison and return. "Apparently it's bad."

He nods with a full mouth and swallows. "Hey Harrison. Jaimie's going to come by for a little while but when Aunt Deb and I get back we're going to take you to the beach."

The kid beams in response, the mouth full of pancake nearly falling out and Deb laughs as he tries to stop it.

* * *

An hour later, as they stand in the stifling heat, Deb wishes the fucking criminals would take a fucking day off so she could too. She shades her eyes with her hand as she and Angel watch Dexter photograph the scene and start taking samples. Three bodies, gruesomely murdered, in the middle of the fucking Piggly Wiggly parking lot. God damn fucking serial killer. She wonders what's in the Miami water that they all manage to show up here.

As the ME covers the bodies and prepares them for transport to the morgue, Dexter hovers near her. "Well?" She prompts.

"Same guy as before, I'm sure."

Deb scowls and looks back to him. "You're telling me everything, aren't you?" She doesn't mean to ask because she's not sure she'd like the answer, if he was even truthful with her.

But all he does is nod and smile assured.  _He's a fucking liar_  crosses her mind before she can stop it. But she forces it away and tells herself to stop.

* * *

They're back to the apartment in three hours, which seems like a feat and she's happy to be able to salvage at least part of her day. Jamie's already packed up Harrison and they're down at the shore in record time. Deb lays under the pounding sun, glad for some color, as she watches Harrison down at the water with Dexter. She can't even recall the last time she was able to just sit and do jack shit for five minutes, let alone an entire afternoon.

It feels unbelievable good to have a normal day. To relax on a beach with her nephew and…Dexter…whatever the fuck he was to her. Most likely a question best left for a different time. Or never.

She watches as Dexter stares down the beach, his eyes locked somewhere, but she can't quite follow. For a moment she tries to search out where his gaze lands, then decides better of it. She doesn't want to think about the reasons that they are here on Sunday afternoon at the beach.

Deb sighs and closes her eyes instead, choosing to force her mind off and allow her body to bake in the mid afternoon sun. Her nap is all too brief and she wakes to Dexter's fingers on her wrist. "You'll burn." He tells her, his eyes roving her bikini clad figure. "You're not wearing much." The tone is somewhere between possessive and protective, somewhere between brother and lover. No matter, it sends a shiver of desire through her and she smiles at him softly. "Let's head out before traffic picks up." He tells her and she watches Harrison picking up his beach toys. "We can hit up Ranaldi's for dinner." Her favorite, a nice ending to a relaxing day.

* * *

At home, after a shower as they get ready for dinner, she's in the bathroom looking at her reflection. She's trying to suppress a memory, a feeling, a sound that rings in her ears at inopportune moments.

She's distracted from it when Dexter walks in. "You're taking too long." He scolds. But he gives her an adoring look and the reprimand is softened. "You did burn." He says softly, his eyes on her collarbone. He reaches around her and produces the aloe from the cabinet, squeezing a dollop onto his hand and gently easing it over the redness. The action is tender and loving and she leans into him until her lips reach his chin, brushing a kiss against it. He smiles at her and the moment is filled with a peace that she finds herself constantly searching for.

"Daddy!" Harrison's voice filters through the partially closed bathroom door, stalling the moment and bringing her back.

"Hurry up" Dexter tells her with a smile. "We're getting hungry."

* * *

The restaurant is busy, but the wait isn't long and the food is fucking good. She looks around at the other tables, filled with families and couples. To everyone else they look just the same and it's astounding to her. She wonders if this is what Dexter feels like; blending in with the crowd while you know you're nothing like them. She wonders if this is the way she'll feel for the rest of her life; separate, distant, wrong. The sadness and isolation wash over her suddenly. The feeling shatters the veneer of her sameness and it's abruptly impossible to pretend that she blends in.

The thought stirs up a feeling of panic and she takes a trembling, fearful breath. That's when she feels Dexter's hand over her own. She looks over to him, to his calm, steadying gaze and her breath leaves her in a slow stream, the panic settling and dissipating. He doesn't say a word, but she can read his expression, his reassurance. She doesn't care that it's a fucking illusion. That his assurances don't amount to a hill of beans. She chooses to latch on to him, to ride his calming presence back to the present moment, back to the safety of anonymity.

* * *

Back at home with a full stomach and Harrison in bed, she sits next to Dexter, leans against his shoulder. Her eyes follow the slapstick comedy on the tv, but her mind is on Dexter, on the feel of his arm around her shoulder, his fingers entwined with hers.

"Good day?" Dexter asks quietly. She nods against him, "Fucking relaxing."

There's a strange pause and she knows what he'll say before he says it. "I'm going to run over to the department. Get a few things started from that crime scene while it's quiet." The tension coils like a snake around her stomach. It may not be a lie, although everything in her screams otherwise.

"Sounds like a good idea." She whispers. He kisses her temple and she leans away as he gets up. When he calls out goodbye she can't find it in her to face him, and gives a small wave instead, listens to the door shut behind him. She has to swallow down the feeling of sickness. She shuts off the tv and gets ready for bed on auto pilot. Best not to think, best not to consider.

Later in the night, she rolls over and he's there. Half-awake she curls up next to him, places her hand over his heart and allows the steady beat to lull her back to sleep. It was a good day after all.


	24. Holiday Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there appears to be a little series within this challenge that has emerged. If you're intrigued you can read the following set of vignettes in this order for a little AU storyline:
> 
> Actually making up
> 
> Holiday gifts
> 
> Normal
> 
> An activity they both enjoy
> 
> A "good day"

There were two presents. The first one opened with Harrison in her lap, his soft, small body curled against hers as he happily giggled at the twinkling Christmas lights. They sat together on the floor, by the tree, surrounded by shredded wrapping paper and Harrison's new toys. Dexter sat grinning on the couch, acting for the entire world like an average dad on Christmas morning.

Her wrist was sore, but she managed just fine to pull the paper off of the rectangular box. She took the lid off to reveal a navy blue shirt with white polka dots.

"Harrison thought you might want a change." Dexter smirked at her, gestured to her striped shirt.

She leant down to Harrison. "Are you sick of my stripes?" And he giggled in return. With her good hand she tickled him until he squirmed in her lap, his laughter bouncing off the walls. It felt good to her to play with him like this. It allowed her to forget for just a moment how fucked up everything was. For a few precious minutes she felt a sort of a vague peace and contentment.

The second present came later. After they had put Harrison in front of the tv and the dishes were being placed in the sink. She was standing at the counter, lost in thought, when he came up behind her. She hadn't heard him until one hand was wrapped around her arm. She tensed, gasped, had to force her body to relax and release the lungful of air. He slid closer, until his chest leaned against her back, brought his lips down to the spot of skin exposed above the neck of her shirt.

The feel of something sharp and smooth in her palm startles her and she looks down to find his hand over her own. He pulls it away and she turns her wrist, sees the clear glass, the spot of crimson in the middle already dried. The bile rises in her throat, her head spins and it is with great effort that she turns her palm down so that the blood slide sits on the counter, covered by her hand, out of view.

Dexter presses his nose into her hair, his lips next to her ear. "Your real present."

She's trapped, imprisoned by him. There is no turning away, nowhere to run. She wants to cry or scream or punch him in his god damn face. But she is frozen, stuck, waiting for his next move.

"You were right about Hannah." She can feel one hand move to her waist, further restricting her movements. "She did poison you."

She is sure she'll be sick now. Her blood is rushing to her head, her heart pounding in her ears. She makes a sound in the back of her throat, a choked sob. This was what she had asked for weeks ago. The precise thing that she wanted. And he had told her then that he couldn't for her sake. Of course it had all been a fucking lie, but he hadn't been wrong. Because even though Deb understood that some people did not deserve to live, even though she had taken a life before, this was different.

"I did this for you, Deb." He whispers, his version of sweet nothings.

He has killed for her. And not just anyone. Someone he claimed to have feelings for, someone he thought he had a future with. What kind of future, Deb couldn't understand. But still, he has made a sacrifice.

"Now you're safe." His voice slips past her ear.

Safe from what, she wants to ask him. Because she might be safe from his poisonous, blonde girlfriend, but she is certainly not safe from him. And now she knows without a doubt that she never will be. Their lives, so inextricably intertwined, have only become more so. Though blood did not bind them from birth, it does so now. She can feel it on her once clean hands; she can see him covered in it as well.

She turns finally to face him, still trapped between his body and the counter. She wraps her fingers around his shoulders, leans her forehead against his. She can hear her breathing, heavy and uneven. Before she can think twice she pushes her lips against his. Though the kiss is hard, brutal, she can feel an inner surrender. Who she was before, the good cop, the loving sister, those are gone. Nothing matters anymore but him.

When she breaks the kiss, she feels a different person emerge. A person she doesn't recognize. Someone she never dreamed she could be.

Dexter meets her gaze steadily. She can see all of him, every bit that he spent most of their lives hiding. And while she should go, while she knows she should run far away from him, she just can't.

"I love you." He tells her, and she really believes him.

She nods, closes her eyes momentarily so she can take a breath, calm her heart and mind. When she opens her eyes the sickness has passed, her heart beats steadily, even. "I know."

The blood slide sits on the counter, the start of the new chapter of their lives.


	25. Low Blow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. You've probably given up on this. I actually had too! But somehow the muses were smiling today. I've got a few last things to write but things are looking good. So I'm going to publish as soon as they're ready!

**Prompt: One makes a comment considered a low blow/trigger**

"I don't love you." Her voice is flat. She holds his gaze steadily and doesn't even have the decency to look sad.

His brow furrows in confusion. "Yes you do." Dexter counters. After all this is what she's always told him. The one thing he always counted on. Of course he had presumed many things that he now knows were foolish.

"No. I love who I thought you were. Turns out that person never existed." She is surprisingly detached when she tells him this and it frightens him.

"Deb, you may know things now that you didn't before, but nothing's really changed. I'm still the same person you cared about."

"The fuck you are." She replies frostily. "The person I _knew_ wasn't a fucking serial killer."

She turns then, putting the last of Harrison's clothes into the luggage and zipping the bag closed.

Dexter watches her movements; sure this was some sort of bad dream. What he saw before him seemed impossible. Harry had warned him. _She'll never be able to care for you._ But in the back of his mind, in the depths of his cold heart, he had always thought his adoptive father was wrong. Harry understood many things, but this? No. Harry could never really understand what Deb meant to him or how much he meant to Deb.

Or so he thought.

But now the hard truth was staring him in the face. Literally.

"Get the fuck out of my way." Deb faces him, eyes burning angrily. In the middle of Harrison's bedroom the image is out of place. He glances down at the suitcase hanging from her right hand, her left clutching Harrison's favorite stuffed animal. He thinks about tucking Harrison in, snuggling the scraggly item into his son's arms.

"Dexter." Deb's voice sneers at him. The sound of his full name is strange on the contours of her voice. It sends a shiver down his spine. He lifts his gaze back to her, the same disconnected look on her face. He can feel himself spinning out.

Deb's irritation reaches breaking point and she shoves past him, knocking him into the doorframe as she moves out to the living room. He watches half dazed as she puts the suitcase by the door, grabs another bag and starts tossing in an assortment of toys.

Dexter finally finds his voice. "You can't do this."

"Fucking try me." Her response is sharp, biting and it only serves a reminder of how far they've come.

"I'll follow you." Dexter replies urgently.

Deb pauses, whatever bravado she showed of these last moments seems to leave her. But it's fleeting. She squares her shoulders, looks him dead in the eye. "I'll turn you in."

"You wouldn't." He's not sure if he believes her, but the fear at the thought is causing his heart to beat an unrecognizable pattern.

Deb moves closer to him. "I thought about it before. But I decided not to. Not because I care about you. But because I care about Harrison. He doesn't need to feel what I'm feeling now. He doesn't fucking deserve it. But I swear to fuck, Dexter. You come near us and I will _handle_ it."

The threat in her voice is real. And in a moment of blinding rage he feels himself reach for her, the intention to harm her clear to Deb before Dexter can even fathom it. She steps away quickly, trying to mask the fear in her eyes as she shakes her head. But Dexter sees it and the look snaps him back, adrenaline coursing through his veins at the horror of hurting her.

The swallows back the fright. "How am I supposed to trust you? With me or with Harrison. After all the fucking lies do you really expect me to still care?"

He can't form a response because she's right. She deserves better than him – always has. And this is what he deserves. To be left, abandoned. He can't even hate her for it.

The weakness starts in his joints and he stumbles to the couch, dropping onto it and taking his heavy head into his hands. Deb pauses, standing a few paces away, staring down at him.

"You've brought this on yourself, Dexter." She tells him gruffly. "You and Dad and all your shitty lies and excuses."

He can't bring himself to look at her. He presses his palms harder into his eye sockets, the black in his view flashing with greens and reds.

"Just stay the fuck away from us." She instructs coldly.

He waits until he hears her pick up the bags, open the door and slam it behind her. He waits as her footsteps recede. He waits while the walls close in on his existence.

He pulls his hands away from his face and takes stock. She was right of course. It was his own fault. It was time for the lies to stop. It was time to be what Brian had always told him he should be. Forget being a hero. Forget the people who had tried to love him. Look where it had gotten them.

It was time to embrace who he really was. The monster, the killer, the fiend. He wonders why he ever waited so long.


End file.
